No Better Assassin
by RocknVaughn
Summary: AU retelling of 4X06 "A Servant of Two Masters". Little did she know it, but Morgana could not have chosen a better assassin to kill Arthur than Merlin. A story in which Arthur is not as oblivious as usual and Merlin actually remembers he's a warlock.
1. Self Sacrificing Idiot

**No Better Assassin**

A/N: _This is basically an AU retelling of 4x06, "A Servant of Two Masters". As much as that episode is one of my favorites (BadAssassin!Merlin is hysterical, and I love the bromance moments), I cannot help but feel that things should not have gone the way it had._

_I know Arthur is a dollop head, but how could he **possibly** not realize that the Merlin from two days before who was dying from a mace wound was suddenly and miraculously healed? Shouldn't that have set off massive warning bells in Arthur's mind?_

_And what about the fact that Merlin is a warlock? Granted, I know that Morgana didn't know that Merlin had magic, but that shouldn't matter. He certainly knew. Surely it would make more sense for the most powerful sorcerer to ever live to attempt to kill someone with, oh…I don't know… **magic**?_

_I wanted to give Arthur (and possibly Merlin's skills as an assassin) a little more credit. Plus, there should be more bromance. I think Merlin and Arthur have progressed far enough down the road of friendship for that…_

_Lastly, this is my first Merlin fic. I appreciate any and all feedback, but please try to be kind. Thank you!_

* * *

Chapter 1: Self-Sacrificing Idiot

King Arthur Pendragon was known to be a rather stubborn young man by just about everyone who knew him. Perhaps it was this reason why, even after hours of scouring the forest surrounding the Valley of the Fallen Kings for any sign of his lost servant, he refused to turn back.

_Merlin._ Gwaine's voice droned on in the background as Arthur mind traveled back to that horrible moment, as it replayed on the back of his eyelids in sickening slow motion: _ the horseman's mace as it landed, full force, against the left side of Merlin's unprotected __chest; as he stumbled sideways, clutching his wound in shock; sinking to his knees as if his legs could no longer hold his weight before pitching face-first into the dust._

Never had panic so overcome Arthur as it had then, seeing Merlin lying there on the ground, still as death and white as a ghost. Sheathing his sword, he ran to his fallen friend – _manservant_, he corrected mentally – scooped him up from the ground in a fluid movement and clambered up the slope and into the brush, out of the line of fire.

He slid down the other side of the steep hill gracelessly, a mass of tangled limbs, as Arthur tried to keep Merlin upright and sheltered during the fall. As his feet hit the bottom of the ravine, he pulled himself into a small crevice made between the rock face and the roots of an ancient oak tree and hunkered down. In the semi-darkness of their hiding place, Arthur studied Merlin's pale face for any sign of alertness (there was none) before peering down to the front of the young man's tunic. A finger of icy horror crackled down Arthur's spine as he saw how the shirt actually indented into Merlin's chest in places, and how dark spots of blood soaked through the already rust colored shirt, melding together, making the tunic stick to Merlin's skin unnaturally.

Arthur's stomach turned at the sight and fear brought other, equally terrifying memories to mind: Echoes of the inhuman screams of the Dorocha; Merlin's face covered in frost, his eyes open, unblinking…

Forcing the memory away physically with a shake of his head, Arthur drew back another half-step in the crevice until his backside was literally wedged between the angles of the rock wall, then pulled Merlin into a half-sitting position in his lap. The young man's head lolled against his shoulder, breathing shallow puffs of warmth against Arthur's neck. Despite the gravity of the situation, Arthur found the sensation calming. They were both safe for the moment, Merlin was alive and they _would_ make it home again.

Arthur's thoughts were interrupted by a swift intake of breath and a low groan. Fighting an urge to cover his manservant's mouth with his hand (he was too wedged in place to manage it anyhow), he instead leaned toward him and hissed in Merlin's ear, "Shhhh!"

"Ahthrrr?" Merlin mumbled, barely coherent.

"Yes," Arthur answered, his voice not even loud enough to be considered a whisper. "Now, be quiet; we're hiding."

"Hiding from what?" came the immediate reply, softer and more lucid than before.

Exasperation tinged Arthur's retort. "Hiding from the men who did _that_ to you…" He nodded toward Merlin's chest with his chin.

"Oh." Merlin breathed the word as he leaned his head back wearily against Arthur's shoulder.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in apprehensive silence. Arthur's legs had long-since gone numb from both the awkward position they were in and Merlin's weight upon them. For his part, Merlin had barely moved, mostly alert, but occasionally slipping in and out of consciousness. All communication between them was non-verbal: Arthur would squeeze Merlin's thigh in warning whenever he heard movement nearby, alerting him to stay silent. And whenever his wound throbbed too painfully to bear, Merlin would grip Arthur's forearm hard, biting back the scream he wanted to let loose, his breath hissing in and out between clenched teeth until the feeling subsided.

As dusk settled in, the noise of their attackers drifted away. Perhaps they had made camp for the night, or had simply moved on further away from the ambush site to search for Camelot survivors.

Arthur carefully nudged Merlin awake, not wanting to jar his damaged left side.

"What?" Merlin breathed, his voice thick with pain.

"I haven't heard any noise around us for some time, Merlin. I think we should try to make a break for it, get you back to Camelot and let Gaius have a look at you."

Merlin was silent for several moments before he groaned and said, "All right, Arthur."

* * *

Gwaine's raised voice cut through Arthur's thoughts. "Hey Princess, that's the third time we've been down this path. Are you paying attention at all?"

"I…" Arthur spluttered, but his biting retort slipped from his mind before he could complete it. _Merlin. Merlin would have laughed at him by now, called him a clot pole, told him he was thick, cackled that he'd taken one too many clouts to the head…_ Sighing, he replied, "Fine, how about you lead for a while, then."

Gwaine pulled up even with Arthur, and placed a commiserating hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, you know. We all miss him." Then, before Arthur could even answer, Gwaine spurred his horse to the front and began to lead.

* * *

The process of their movement was slow going, to say the least. Merlin was lightheaded and weak; he could not walk without leaning heavily onto Arthur's shoulder. His wound continued to seep blood with every step he took. Arthur couldn't proceed for more than five minutes at a time before Merlin would practically pass out from the pain and blood loss.

But it didn't matter, because Arthur wasn't going to leave Merlin behind because it was _his_ fault this had happened. After all, what kind of thick-headed _imbecile_ brings along his servant on all his hunting trips, reconnaissance patrols, and rescue missions? Worse yet, doesn't even give said servant a _shred_ of protection: no armor, or sword, or even a bleeding knife?

They had been out on so many of these trips by now that Arthur guessed he simply took for granted that Merlin would be okay. His servant just seemed to be blessed with an uncanny luck for returning from these things unscathed, even though they had been attacked many, many times over the years.

Obviously, today was the day Merlin's luck ran out.

Arthur lowered Merlin down behind a stand of trees on the down slope of a hill just as they heard two of the mercenaries coming their way. Waiting until the voices subsided, Merlin tilted his head toward Arthur and wheezed, "They need to work through their anger…"

_Leave it to Merlin to joke at a time like this, the idiot!_ "They just did… on you."

Merlin snickered, but to Arthur, it looked like a grimace and he knew that Merlin was in much more pain than he was letting on. It really did take a certain kind of bravery to withstand the agony of such a serious wound without complaint, bravery that he wasn't sure even half the knights in Camelot possessed.

After several long minutes, Arthur pushed himself to a stand, his tired muscles aching in protest as he used his body as ballast to pull Merlin up as well. "Come on," Arthur panted, taking one slow step, and then another, coaxing Merlin along, "We'll have you back home before you know it."

* * *

"Arthur?" Gwaine turned his head to look back at the king, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. "How much longer?"

"We're not leaving until we find him, Gwaine," Arthur answered stonily.

Gwaine recognized that tone and knew better than to say anything else.

* * *

Merlin was getting sicker, he knew. Arthur could tell, even in the moonlight, that his face was more pasty than usual and his eyes held that distinctive unnatural glow indicating a fever.

Trying to keep the mood light, despite his worry, Arthur teased, "A night's rest and you'll be polishing my armor. They could definitely do with a scrub."

Gently lowering Merlin down so that he could use the nearby fallen tree trunk as a pillow, Arthur nearly gasped at the heat emanating off of his friend. Merlin grimaced as he tried to brace himself against the tree. Carefully, Arthur moved aside Merlin's jacket and peeled back what he could of the blood-soaked tunic. Both men's eyes were drawn to the seeping holes in Merlin's chest. They were red and pussy and crusted with grime. Their eyes met and their faces sobered.

Arthur had to swallow back the tinny taste that usually preceded vomiting as he rubbed his hand against his mouth in an effort to dispel the image of the last place he'd seen a wound like this: it was a young knight on his first patrol with Arthur. They'd been ambushed and it was clear that the weapon used to injure the man had been poisoned. Poor Sir Archibald had not survived the night.

Not wanting Merlin to know his morbid thoughts, he said encouragingly, "I've seen worse; I've definitely seen worse."

He needn't have bothered. Merlin _was_ Gaius' ward, after all. He'd witnessed more than his fair share of battle wounds and knew what he was seeing as surely as Arthur did. If he didn't receive treatment soon, this wound would be his death sentence.

Merlin's cheeky grin did not quite hide the terror in his eyes when he countered, "…On a dead man."

Arthur carefully wrapped Merlin's jacket back over the wound and brought Merlin's arm up to keep it in place. "You're not going to die, Merlin. Don't be such a coward." He knew it was a stupid and insensitive thing to say, but it was just how he and Merlin dealt with the tough stuff. Or at least, it was how _he_ dealt with it, and even if he was loathe to admit it, he knew that Merlin was astute enough to read between the lines to what he was _really_ saying.

Merlin gave Arthur a speculative look. "If I do die, will you call me a hero?"

Arthur sat back and pressed himself against the log behind them. "Probably," he admitted.

"Otherwise, while I'm still alive, I'm a coward."

_Ah, there it was._ The teasing banter was back in Merlin's voice, even through the pain. It almost made Arthur's heart ache with the bitter sweetness of it…_almost_. "That's the way these things work, I'm afraid," he responded with mock-seriousness. "You get the glory when you're not around to appreciate it."

Merlin tilted his head and scoffed. "Unless you're the king…"

"Come on, it's got to have _some_ advantages…"

"You have a very good servant," came the lilting reply, a ghost of an impertinent smile on Merlin's lips before he hissed out a painful breath.

Arthur sobered at that. His voice was bare with naked emotion as he admitted, "You're right. I do: a servant who's extremely brave and incredibly loyal, to be honest, and not at all cowardly." Arthur's eyes slid away; embarrassed by this display even while he was glad he said it.

Merlin's response was just as solemn. "Thank you for saving my life."

Their eyes connected again for a moment before Arthur looked away. "You'd do the same for me."

* * *

Arthur jerked to a stop, pulled from his reverie by Gwaine reaching over and tugging on his reins. "What?" he said, more than a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Gwaine dismounted from his horse and walked it over to a stand of trees. "It's well past midday. We should eat something."

"I don't feel like eating, Gwaine," Arthur protested feebly, but he slid down from his horse just the same.

Gwaine threaded his fingers through his wavy hair in barely restrained grief, his eyes harboring a wild glint. "I don't either, but I don't think Gwen would take it too lightly if I let you starve yourself out here."

A grim smile graced Arthur's features. "You're probably right." He turned and reached into his saddlebags, retrieving some jerked meat and a block of hard cheese. Gwaine pulled out some fruit and bread from his and then removed his cloak and laid it upon the ground. They sat side by side on it, backs to a fallen tree trunk, and pooled their rations. Arthur grabbed the bread loaf and ripped off a piece, nodding to Gwaine to let him know he didn't have to stand on ceremony and wait for him. Gwaine grabbed the cheese and broke it in half, placing one piece in front of Arthur and taking a large bite out of the other.

"What are we doing out here, Arthur? _Really_…"

"Looking for Merlin, of course."

"We've _been_ looking for him for two days, and there's been no sign of him." Gwaine refused to mention the bloodied piece of Merlin's jacket they'd found on patrol yesterday. There was no use belaboring the point.

"_I_ haven't been looking for him."

"Well, you can hardly blame yourself for that!" Gwaine insisted. "You're the _king_! You've had no chance to get away since the attack."

_That's where you're wrong_, Arthur thought and shook his head. "I should have been out here with every patrol, Gwaine. It was _my_ fault. I was the one who left him."

"What choice did you have? Besides, you didn't _leave_ him; the rock fall _separated_ you. There was nothing you could have done."

Arthur thought back to that morning, how pale and gaunt Merlin was, how he couldn't even so much as lift his own head. His voice was feeble as he protested Arthur's carrying him. _"Leave me…please leave me…"_

"I should never have put him down."

Gwaine rolled his eyes and shoved his shoulder into Arthur's. "Look Princess, I know you have a very high opinion of your fighting skills, but I believe even _you_ would have had difficulty fighting off an entire horde of mercenaries with Merlin draped across your shoulders…"

Arthur blinked rapidly to force back the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Still, his voice was full of them when he admitted the thing that had been gnawing at his insides since that moment. "He was _dying_, Gwaine. He was dying and I just left him there to die at the hands of those mercenaries!" Arthur swallowed around the painful lump in his throat and rasped, "If had been the other way around and I was the one dying, he never would have left me. I know he wouldn't."

The self-loathing that Gwaine heard in the king's voice was staggering. Arthur was taking Merlin's…_disappearance_ way harder than he had suspected. He grabbed Arthur by both shoulders and shook him. "Don't tell me you didn't try and get back to him, Arthur. I know you. I saw the state of your hands when we found you."

It was true; he had. Arthur called out Merlin's name over and over while he struggled in vain to shift rocks aside to get back through the passage. He didn't care if it meant he had to fight every last one of those damned mercenaries to get to Merlin; he would do it.

He yanked and pulled until his fingertips were raw, but they just wouldn't budge…the rocks were too big. And the way the rock fall landed did not make it possible to scale them, though Gods knew he tried.

"Yes, I tried," Arthur spit out disgustedly. "I tried and _failed_."

"Merlin wouldn't want you to do this to yourself, Arthur." Gwaine's fingers squeezed Arthur's forearms, trying to lend him moral support. "If he could have chosen which one of you would be trapped and which one of you would be free, you know _this_ is what he would have wanted."

Arthur shoved himself up from the ground and began to pace, throwing his hands into the air, punctuating his words, "I know that! Don't you think I know that? Self-sacrificing…_idiot_ that he is."

"Reminds me a bit of that trip we made to the Perilous Lands that time…" Gwaine mused, his own memories of Merlin intruding upon the moment.

The randomness of the comment stopped Arthur in his tracks. Staring down at Gwaine, he demanded, "What are you talking about?"

"You honestly don't think he came after you just for a lark, do you?" Gwaine stared up at Arthur, confused for a moment until realization kicked in. "Ah, he never told you, then."

"Told me _what_?"

"That the armlet you were wearing was killing you."


	2. Et tu, Merlin?

**No Better Assassin**

A/N: Thanks so much for the interest in this story already! This fandom is very inviting and warm, I must say. :)

I realize that I am spoiling you by posting another chapter within a day of posting the first, but I must be honest and tell you that I will not be able to post this often most of the time. My writing time is relatively limited, but I will try to find a more regular posting schedule after this so people know what to expect.

All right, so I was about 3 pages into what was to be Chapter 2, picking up where I left off with Arthur and Gwaine, when I realized that, yeah, Merlin's side of the story _needed_ to be told. I really wouldn't be doing this story justice if I didn't. I wanted a plausible reason for why Merlin just hung there from the dang ceiling instead of trying to escape...and I think you all do, too.

Also, this chapter is a little shorter than I normally would write, but the stopping point was just so good, I had to take it.

So, we _will_ get back to Gwaine's explanation to Arthur, I promise. It just might take a couple chapters, that's all... (No throwing me in the stocks and hucking tomatoes at me, please!)

If you get a chance, please review. I really appreciate it! Thanks!

* * *

Chapter 2: Et tu, Merlin?

After summoning his magic to cause the rock fall, Merlin could remember very little. Once he saw with his own eyes that Arthur was safe, he let the lethargy he'd been holding at bay consume him. If the mercenaries were only going to kill him anyway, perhaps this was for the best.

Yet, they did not. It didn't make sense to Merlin, but he had no real mental faculties left to riddle it out. He felt himself fading, as if he were being pulled down a dark hallway from behind. He couldn't keep his eyes open, even when he was jerked upward by rough hands under both armpits. Even the pain of his infected wound seemed small and far away to him.

The snippets of memories that seeped through his hazy world seemed more dreamlike than real: the rhythmic movement of his body swaying as he was being carried Gods-knew-where; the whoosh of his breath being forced out of him as he was dropped unceremoniously upon the ground; the voices – familiar voices that he _knew_ he should place but his brain would not cooperate – speaking of his fate as if he were nothing.

Then there was a telltale _shing_ of a sword being removed from its sheath somewhere above him, and Merlin waited for the killing blow that never came. Instead, there was a moment, words that embedded themselves in his subconscious mind with stunning clarity. They didn't make sense to him now, of course, but they would appear in his nightmares for years to come: "Arthur is strangely fond of the boy; he could prove useful…very useful indeed."

* * *

Merlin gasped as the frigid water shocked him awake. A fiery agony immediately blazed across his chest as his dead weight half-pulled his arms out of their sockets. Swinging from the ceiling by bound wrists as he was, it took Merlin more than a moment to find his feet. He discovered he was able to touch the ground as long as he stood on his toes.

Shivering from the fever and the drenching, his teeth chattered. His eyes still shut, Merlin tried to steady himself, willing the brutal pain from his wound to subside enough for him to regulate his breathing and mute the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

What he heard next, however, made his blood run cold.

"Good morning." Morgana's voice was so smug, Merlin felt sure her trademark evil smirk _must_ be making an appearance.

_Of __**course**__, Morgana would have been behind the ambush_, Merlin thought angrily. If he'd had a free hand at that moment, he would have literally smacked his own forehead. It was so obvious now; he couldn't believe he hadn't realized it sooner. _And she probably had a little help from dear Uncle Agravaine... _

The thought of people that Arthur loved abusing his trust like this fuelled Merlin's rage and temporarily overrode his suffering, giving him the presence of mind and bravado to face his most formidable foe.

Pure, unadulterated hatred blazed from Merlin's eyes as he opened them to glare at Morgana. "Is it?" he snarked in the most disrespectful tone he could muster.

His attitude only amused Morgana further. "Aw, don't be like that. We have a lot of catching up to do."

Merlin grimaced as his foot slipped in the slick of water on the floor and he jarred his wound yet again. Black spots popped up in his peripheral vision and it was by sheer willpower alone that he remained conscious.

Morgana's voice took a more bitter turn. "After all, I haven't seen you since you condemned my sister to a slow and painful death, thwarted my plans to take over Camelot, and forced me to live in a hovel…"

Merlin could no longer hide his shivering, but his eyes turned dark and steely, locking with determination on Morgana's. "Couldn't do me a favor, could you? Let Arthur know. He still thinks of me as an underachiever, but I'm quite proud of _those_ accomplishments. I can die _happy_," he spit out, his face pulled into a sneer.

Mock-surprise graced Morgana's face before she goaded, "Oh, you're not going to die. I'm not going to make it that _easy_…"

As Morgana sauntered away out of eyesight, Merlin's shaking increased. His legs felt rubbery and his muscles trembled with exhaustion. Closing his eyes, he searched inside himself for the threads of his magic, wanting to keep it close in case he had an opportunity to free himself without giving his secret away.

To his horror, he found the threads weak and frayed and barely responsive to his will. In desperation, Merlin flung what magic he could control outward, searching all around him for the possible source, terrified that Morgana had somehow found out who he was.

The rope around his wrists was not enchanted, nor was the metal chain it was suspended from. He found wards both inside and outside the hut, yes, but nothing besides of the normal shielding and protection charms. Merlin gasped as the magic slid back inside him, perhaps half as strong as it had been when it left, and perhaps a tenth as strong as it had been the day before when he'd caused the rock fall.

Spots swam before Merlin's eyes again, making him feel motion sick. The whole world felt as if it were slipping sideways, tilting downward. His last thought before succumbing to blessed unconsciousness was that there really could be only one explanation for such a grievous loss of his magic: He was dying…and because he _was_ magic, his magic was dying with him.

* * *

Merlin awoke, weak as a kitten and chilled to the bone, hanging limply from his wrists, as he had no strength left to stand. He could not even open his eyes. It was all he could do to simply breathe and keep his heart beating.

The infection from his chest had spread to his blood, Merlin knew, because the tendrils of fiery ice that constricted his breathing now fanned out up and down his left side. He could feel the ache of it in his hip, his knee, his shoulder, and even in his otherwise numb fingers. It wouldn't be much longer before death claimed him completely. If only he had enough of his magic left, Merlin could have invoked the rite to Mirror Life and Death, but it seemed that that power, along with so many others, would die with him. His magic was ebbing away, draining out with the last of his congealed lifeblood.

Merlin's heart ached at the thought of leaving Arthur, unprotected and having not yet reached his potential as the Once and Future King. Merlin felt that he had failed him; failed in the destiny that bound them together. He wished with all his heart that he'd gotten the opportunity to reveal his true self to Arthur; he deserved to know the truth about his magic. But now Arthur would never know, and perhaps magic would never be freed in Albion after all. All he could do was hope that he'd had enough influence on the young king – his friend-brother-soulmate – to steer him the rest of the way.

Ah, Gwen…his first friend in Camelot and its destined Queen. Would even that come to pass now? He didn't know. He desperately hoped so; Arthur would need someone he could love and trust once Merlin was gone.

He thought of the knights: Gwaine, who had come back to Camelot for Arthur, yes…but more so for him. Elyan, Leon, and Percival, who all loved to tease him, but deep down, he knew that they thought of him more as a younger brother than a servant.

And what would happen to Kilgharrah and Aithusa without him? If he really were the last Dragonlord, then his death would also bring about the destruction of the dragons, for there would be no one left to call the new dragons into the world.

Merlin thought of Gaius…and his mother. Tears gathered in his eyes and slid silently down his cheeks. They would both be devastated. He wished he had the chance to say goodbye to them, all of them. Yet it was not to be. All that was left to him now was to die with honor and pray that he was not so far from the Lake of Avalon that Freya could not find him once he passed into the spirit world.

With one last sigh, Merlin let go of his tenuous grip on the land of the living and slipped slowly toward the gift of eternal rest.

* * *

Merlin hovered near awareness, just a hairsbreadth from surfacing. Confusion overwhelmed him; he didn't understand what was going on. Shouldn't he be dead by now? Seriously, what was taking so long?

As more of his lucidity returned, he could sense a presence right in front of him; a magical presence…and not a good one, though it was one he recognized. _Morgana_.

Why couldn't she just leave him alone? Hadn't she done enough already? Did she really have to ruin the peace of his last moments on Earth, too?

It was then that he noticed the horrible stinging sensation coming from the general area of his wound, the pressure and pain of a cloth scrubbing against it again and again, and the tangy but familiar smell of healing herbs. What the _hell_?

A particularly vindictive scrape of the cloth across the worst of Merlin's open wound dragged him into consciousness with a strangled hiss. Tears of utter torment glittered on his lashes as his eyes opened. Though his vision was blurry, he could tell that the shadows cast from the window behind him had changed direction. Obviously several hours had passed since he was last alert.

Squinting to focus on the face of his captor through watery eyes, he could barely make out her features, partially shielded as she was from the late afternoon sun by the shadow of his own body. She seemed wholly absorbed in her task, not noticing for several moments that he was awake. And then she said mildly, as if they were simply discussing the weather, "You know, there's one thing I don't understand, Merlin. You're Arthur's servant, nothing more. And yet, time and again you've proven yourself willing to lay down your life for him."

Merlin's voice was so harsh, guttural, and anguish-filled that he barely recognized it as his own. "What are you _doing_?" he demanded instead.

Her face half-lit and half in shadow, Morgana scoffed, "Have you never seen Gaius clean a wound before?"

"All right, I know _what_ you're doing…what I don't know is _why_!"

Morgana scowled and grabbed Merlin's chin, forcing him to make eye contact with her as she glared up at him. "I believe I asked you a question first. Why are you so loyal to Arthur?" She stared at him for a long moment before shoving his face out of her hand and resuming her work.

The pain was so unbearable now that Merlin could not keep his voice from cracking on every other word. "I don't expect you to understand, Morgana. You have no sense of duty; no sense of loyalty…"

Silence gathered between them before Morgana finally bit out, "You're wrong. Don't think I don't understand loyalty just because I've got no one left to be loyal _to_."

Removing the offending cloth from Merlin's wound at last, Morgana covered it with her hand instead. Merlin knew what came next…and it sort of terrified him. Not the healing in and of itself, no… it was the enchanted sleep that went with it. He'd never had a healing spell as powerful as this one would be performed _on_ him. While he wasn't the best at performing healing magic, he certainly understood the principles behind it: the graver the wound, the longer the sleep… and it went against his every survival instinct to be that unprotected and vulnerable while in Morgana's presence.

He mentally prepared himself (since physically tensing _anything_ was not going to happen) and hoped to hold off that part of the spell. _I am Emrys, after all_, Merlin thought. _That should count for something…_

"_Ic dhe dhurhhaele dhinu licsar mid dham sundorcraeft dhaere ealdan ae_," Morgana chanted, her eyes mesmerizing Merlin as they bored into his. Already he could feel the healing effects beginning, the magic tantalizingly warm and soft as it flooded his body from Morgana's palm. "_Drycraeft dhurhhaele dhina wunda ond dhe geedstadholie_." A flash of gold emanating from her eyes punctuated the end of the spell and Merlin suddenly felt so relaxed that it was as if he were melting into a puddle of boneless, mindless goo. His eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelids began to drift closed as Morgana grabbed his chin and, with a smirk, wordlessly pushed one more shot of magic into him for good measure.

Merlin tried to fight against the feeling, he really, really did, but it was like swimming upstream through molasses or being surrounded by the most sumptuous featherbeds one could imagine, and he was tired…_so_ tired…

One last time, Merlin tried to push back with his powers, but they were still too fragile and feeble to hold up for more than a few seconds against an onslaught of powerful magic like Morgana's. And so it was that even the mighty Emrys succumbed to the oblivion of a simple healing enchantment.

* * *

As Morgana turned to walk away from Merlin's now limp form, a strange sensation stopped her in her tracks. Her right hand was tingling. It prickled, as if it had fallen asleep and was just reawakening.

_No, it can't be…_ Morgana thought, her nose crinkled in confusion. _It's not possible… It must be some side effect of the spell; after all, it was quite powerful._

Facing Merlin again, she placed her right hand back on the unconscious man's chest. She breathed in a deep cleansing breath and concentrated. Searching inside of him she felt nothing, no trace of the tingling she'd experienced a moment before.

Still, she needed to make sure. She gripped Merlin's chin with her left hand while cupping her right palm across his forehead and incanted, "_Ic i abene drycraeft to acydhan_!"

In response to her command, Merlin's eyelids fluttered for a moment. Morgana's eyes widened in stupefaction as she watched his irises morph to the tiniest, faintest flicker of gold.

* * *

A/N: Oh yeah, I went there.

The first spell used was the healing spell from the episode, obviously. The second one was mine: _I command the magic to reveal itself_!


	3. Kin and Kindness

**No Better Assassin**

_A/N: Thanks once again for the great response I've been getting for this story. I was really nervous about posting it. I really, really love feedback. I love hearing what people's favorite part is (if you are so inclined). I even like hearing about if something isn't working right or if something is confusing. Sometimes feedback gives me a great brainstorm and helps with my writing. For example, a comment made by the wonderful Mediatrix about Chapter 2 really helped me cement how I wanted to play out the magic reveal in this chapter. _

_The way things stand now, I'd say we'll be getting back to Arthur and Gwaine either during the next chapter or the one after that, depending on how long the rest of the "hovel" scene ends up. Then we can really get into the meat of the story. I hope this part is interesting nonetheless._

_And no, in case you are wondering while reading, there will be no non-canon pairing of Merlin and Morgana. Sorry Mergana fans! (But you can still wear your goggles if you want to...)_

_Thank you all for reading! :)_

* * *

Chapter 3: Kin and Kindness

Morgana continued to stare at Merlin's face long after the shimmer faded away and his eyelids closed. Shaking her head as if waking from a dream, she shoved the unconscious Merlin's head away from her once more. He swung from his wrists like a pendulum for several moments.

_Well, what do you know? Arthur's little pet has magic._ The irony of it made her laugh out loud. Her magic-hating brother with a sorcerer servant, right under his nose all this time!

Of course, that's if you could call the pitiful flicker she'd just witnessed _magic_. It didn't surprise her that Merlin's power was so weak: the man couldn't even _walk_ a straight line without tripping over his own feet. How could he possibly wield something as powerful and mighty as magic with any skill?

Snorting, she thought, _Gaius probably taught him a few basic healing spells he remembered from before The Great Purge_. Merlin certainly couldn't have learned much; there were no magic books in Camelot to study from. She knew because after she'd finally discovered her own gifts and understood what they were she had looked for some herself.

The thought of those first few terrifying months—of setting things on fire with her mind and the powerful nightmares she'd suffered—led Morgana to another, and frankly more possible explanation: Merlin had an untapped latent ability.

Perhaps he was a warlock and didn't even realize he _possessed_ magic yet. Morgana didn't know for sure how old Merlin was, but it had been seven and a half years since he came to Camelot and she guessed he was about 17 or 18 summers then. That would put Merlin in his mid-twenties now. That would be a little late to come into one's power if you were born with it, but it was not unheard of, especially for witches and warlocks with lesser ability. _And being in an environment that completely banned magic of any sort certainly would have kept those abilities hidden and locked away_, she mused.

Yes, this made _much_ more sense, because she could not see Merlin _willingly_ doing anything that would go against something Arthur believed. He was more loyal to him than her brother's stupid hounds!

Besides, she'd been around Merlin enough times in the past to know that she'd never detected any magic emanating from him before. But today, in those few moments before Merlin had surrendered to the sleep of the healing spell, it was almost as if his magic had responded directly to _her_ magic…as if her magic had pulled his to the surface.

Morgana smiled as she approached her hearth to heat her supper. As she bent to stir the stew in the pot over the fire, a memory popped up, unbidden, temporarily obscuring her vision:

_She opened her bedroom door to find Merlin, staring at his feet, holding a bottle of potion. Barely daring to look at her, he stepped inside._

_"Gaius asked me to deliver this." Merlin's voice was soft, kind, and sad as he met her eyes._

_Suddenly it was Morgana who could not meet Merlin's eyes. "I don't need any potion, thank you."_

_Merlin's eyes turned toward the open doorway, a precursor to leaving. But before he could even shift his weight to move, she pleaded, "Merlin? Ignore what I said last night. I had a nightmare; I was upset."_

"_I know. I haven't said anything to anyone." His voice was solemn, his eyes wide and earnest. For a long moment, their eyes connected and she felt…she didn't know what she felt, although it disturbed her._

_Turning her back, she walked several paces away from Merlin, frustrated and embarrassed by her weakness in front of him. "I'm sorry; it's usually Gwen who has to deal with me when I'm like this."_

"_I don't mind. Maybe I could help."_

_Morgana choked back a sob. "I doubt that."_

_There was a long pause before Merlin replied, "You'd be surprised."_

_Morgana looked over her shoulder just in time to see Merlin shutting the door behind him and turning to face her. "I understand. I know how frightening this all must be for you…**especially** for you." _

"_Why especially for me?"_

"_You're the King's ward…you know his hatred of magic better than anyone."_

_Morgana stifled a gasp. "That's what you think has been happening to me? The dreams, the fire…you think it **was** magic!" Her voice sounded breathy and terrified even to her._

_Merlin was quick to shake his head. "I'm not saying that."_

"_But it could be, couldn't it?" she demanded._

"_I really wouldn't know…but there are people who do."_

"_Who?"_

_Merlin approached her at last. "What about the Druids? They **help** people like you."_

_Disappointment nearly crushed Morgana's soul. "None of their kind would **dare** show themselves in Camelot!"_

"_No…but I know where you can find them."_

Morgana's vision cleared and she dropped the long-forgotten spoon back into the stewpot. Merlin was the first: the first person to try to help her unravel the mystery surrounding her gifts.

So much had happened since that day…their friendship had splintered and fractured a hundred times over. But this… This changed everything. She and Merlin were kin now in a way, bound by the ties of magic.

She knew that Merlin's loyalty to Arthur ran deep…but what if he didn't know what he was? If Merlin did not yet know he was a warlock, then he was not aware that he was fighting against his own freedom. If Merlin didn't know he had magic, then there was still a chance he could be turned to support her cause. She could help him along; teach and mentor him, as so many High Priestesses had done before her. If she succeeded, she would have another spy in the castle, one who could prove much more useful than Agravaine could _ever_ be.

_It was worth a try_, she thought.

* * *

More than 24 hours passed. Morgana knew Merlin's healing process would take time, but even _she_ was surprised it was taking this long. She supposed he must have been much closer to death than she had realized at the time. No matter. He was on the mend now and would be soon be helping her cause one way or another.

Slowly, she walked in a circle around Merlin's body. She decided it couldn't hurt to be cautious. "_Drycraeft ungebunden, ac becriepp. Drycraeft aslupan ond ne forgrap._" Thrice around him she walked and chanted the spell, and then Morgana's eyes flashed gold. She stopped and placed a hand on the center of Merlin's chest and tried to sense his magic. Sure enough, every time she would come close to touching the tiny flame of power inside of him, it would fade away as if it had never existed.

She could have bound Merlin's magic, sure…but this way was kinder, not as painful. In fact, if he were not yet aware of his magic, then he would notice nothing at all. She had experienced was it felt like to have one's magic bound as part of her High Priestess training, and it was _very_ unpleasant. She really didn't wish that experience on anyone with magic; not even Merlin. Or at least not while there was still a chance to make him her ally.

Next, seeing she would have a fully healed Merlin on her hands, she set about ensuring he could not escape. He might not be brutishly powerful like Arthur, but he was sneaky, and she preferred not having to constantly watch her back.

Still, she mused, he was already chained. A full body spell would not be necessary. It didn't make sense to waste her strength; enchanting just a few key muscles would be enough. Walking behind Merlin, she placed her hands flat against his shoulder blades. "_Breostgethanc acwedhe ne se banloca. Banloca mane hiereth breostgethanc_." Morgana's eyes glowed gold for a moment before they faded back to ice blue again.

Next came the muscles in Merlin's upper arms and then finally his legs above the knee. He certainly wouldn't be able to break free of his bonds without the strength of his upper arms and shoulders, nor would he be walking anywhere without the control of his legs.

Satisfied with her work, now all Morgana had to do was wait for Merlin to wake up.

* * *

Consciousness came slowly to Merlin. He could sense things around him, but his eyelids would not even so much as flutter, forget about moving anything else. Yet it was not like before, when he was dying. There was no pain; in fact, he felt _great_. It was simply as if his mind awakened before his body could catch up, as if it had to take time to remember how to work.

Merlin took this opportunity to just listen to his surroundings. He could hear the crackle of the wood in the hearth across the room and a breeze rustling through the trees outside the hut. But what he _didn't_ hear was the sound of another person breathing and he realized suddenly: Morgana was not there.

_Perfect_, he thought in grim satisfaction. She'd left him alone and she didn't know about his magic. It would be the ideal time to escape. It amazed Merlin how time and again everyone he knew seemed to underestimate him. Still, he had to think that this time he was grateful.

If only he could get his body to move… Sucking in a slow shallow breath, Merlin concentrated first on getting his eyelids to open. He needed to ensure Morgana was gone before he attempted to free himself. Finally, his lids peeled open a crack, just enough to allow Merlin to see, but not enough for anyone else to tell he was awake. The view confirmed that Morgana was not around unless she was behind him. Turning his neck slightly, he peered over his shoulder. _Nope, not there either_.

It was then that feeling started returning to the rest of Merlin's body. _Good timing_, he thought, a ghost of a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. _Oh, how angry Morgana will be to find me gone; to be thwarted by a servant yet again!_

_Now, let's see what we can do about these ropes_, Merlin thought, looking up at his tied wrists. He could tell that his magic was nowhere near recovered, but then the healing spell Morgana had cast was for his body, not for his magic. That would return in time. Still, the power needed to break the ropes was trifling; he should easily have more than enough.

In his mind, Merlin reached for his magic…only to find in surprise that it did not come forth. Instead, it slid away from him like it was a magnet that had been flipped, pushing back every time he pulled. He could sense it, could tell it was there…but it was elusive, like the word on the tip of your tongue you cannot seem to find.

After several frustrating minutes, Merlin gave up. Something was very wrong with his magic, but he would have to sort that out later. He still needed to escape. It would take more time, perhaps, but only a simple rope attached to a metal chain suspended him. With enough friction, he should be able to fray the rope enough to snap.

Merlin pushed upward with his legs to give himself enough slack on the rope to work at it…except nothing happened. Correction, he could feel the strain in the balls of his feet and power running up his calves, but then…nothing. Dumbfounded, Merlin looked down at himself and tried again. And again. The muscles in his thighs didn't so much as twitch.

He grabbed two fistfuls of rope, determined to pull himself to a full stand, but that didn't work either. This time, although his fingers were almost cramping from the strain and his forearms were shaking, anything above that was not cooperating.

Suddenly he _knew_ why his body wasn't working the way it should…and his heart started pounding. Morgana had enchanted him. He'd _known_ something like this would happen to him if he left himself defenseless!

Immediately a spell that would release him sprung to Merlin's mind and he called his magic to cast it. It slithered away from him like a serpent. An edge of panic slid across his mind before he tamped it down harshly. Now was not the time for hysterics; he needed to make this _work_!

Taking a deep cleansing breath and focusing, Merlin imagined a ring of bright blue in his mind slowly forming around his magic. It crept slowly so as not to startle the flickering flame, the ends of the curved line growing closer and closer to touching until the circle closed, completely surrounding the magical spark. He imagined the ring closing in on itself, coming closer and closer to the center, ready to absorb the spark…when it suddenly extinguished itself and disappeared.

A wave of cold dread rippled down Merlin's body. He now knew with terrified certainty that his magic not responding to him was no accident. Somehow, some way, Morgana had discovered that he had magic, and had cast a spell to block it.

Spots swam before Merlin's eyes as he forgot how to breathe for several moments. What did it mean? How did she find out? Her treatment of him was bad enough when she thought of him as just the clumsy meddlesome oaf Merlin. What unspeakable things would she do to him if she realized that he was really her sworn enemy Emrys?

Never in his life had he felt so helpless.

* * *

It was at this unfortunate moment that the hovel door opened and Morgana entered, carrying a bundle of herbs and some bread. Her smirk widened as she took in the panicked look on Merlin's face.

She placed her burden on the table and sauntered over, standing right in front of him, purposefully invading his personal space. Instinctively, Merlin tried to back up, but his uncooperative legs tripped over themselves instead.

"Ah, I see you have discovered the enchantment." Morgana's voice dripped with smugness.

Merlin fumbled for a moment before he could tentatively right himself, using the toes of his boots to inch his legs forward to bear his weight again. Steeling himself for Gods knew what, he spit back, "I have."

Morgana laughed aloud at Merlin's sullen tone. "You didn't honestly think that I would leave you alone and unguarded without some sort of insurance you couldn't escape, now did you? Did you really think I'd be that stupid?"

"One could hope."

Morgana patted her palm against Merlin's cheek condescendingly. "Well, now you know better." She tilted her head to one side and studied him. "How are you feeling?"

"Other than the fact that _half my body_ doesn't work right, I feel fine, thanks."

"You're welcome," Morgana replied, knowing full well that Merlin was being sarcastic. "After all, I _did_ just save your life."

"And I'm quite sure you did that out of the kindness of your heart, too."

Morgana shrugged one shoulder and eyed Merlin innocently. "It's possible."

"But not bloody likely."

"Well, at least one good thing came out of it…" Morgana teased.

"And what was that?" Merlin snarked.

"I know your secret." Morgana's smile was triumphant.

Merlin felt his heart do a stutter-step and then start beating double time against his ribcage. He was usually no good at deception, but this time his life literally depended on it.

Insolently, he demanded, "What are you _talking_ about?"

"You have magic."

Wisps of panic threaded through his veins at her words. _Gods. She knew. She knew!_

Merlin widened his eyes as if this notion was completely shocking to him. Indignantly, he declared, "No I haven't! That's _insane_, Morgana!"

"But you _do_, Merlin," she insisted. "I felt it. I _saw_ it."

"That's not possible!" Merlin's voice rose an octave as he told the outrageous lie.

Morgana saw the fear in Merlin's eyes and completely misinterpreted it. "I know…" she soothed as if she were speaking to a frightened child, "it's hard to accept, what with being Arthur's pet servant and living in magic-hating Camelot."

"I _don't have magic_!"

Morgana shook her head pityingly. "Merlin. While you were unconscious, I cast a spell on you to determine if you had magic. Your eyes turned _gold_, Merlin. You know as well as I do what that means."

Merlin's eyes widened further, and his breath came in quick pants as he hyperventilated. He was shaking all over, truly petrified now. She knew about his magic and he was helpless to do anything about it.

"You really didn't know, did you?" Morgana spoke conversationally, as if she weren't witnessing Merlin having a nervous breakdown right in front of her. "That doesn't surprise me. What chance would it have had to blossom in such a stagnating environment as Camelot?"

After a couple of completely suffocating moments of true terror, the words Morgana was saying to Merlin started to sink in. She thought _he_ didn't know! And if that's what she thought, then _certainly_ she didn't know he was Emrys. He might be able to get out of this situation yet…

"_Yours_ did…" he refuted.

"Yes, well…I am a bit of a special case, I admit. My magic is very powerful. _Yours_, however…" Morgana grinned mockingly, "…is not."

"This is all a lie, Morgana. Something you've concocted to try to turn me against Arthur. It's not going to work."

Morgana sighed and walked toward her washing table, grabbing the piece of glass she'd enchanted to reflect like a mirror. Merlin really could be a stubborn git! Returning with it, she held it in front of Merlin's face. "You don't believe me? Watch."

Again, she incanted the spell, "_Ic i abene drycraeft to acydhan._"

Even as he watched, he saw his own irises flicker with a dull hint of gold; not at all like the bright glowing color he knew he was capable of producing. _It must be because my magic is still weak._ For some reason, this thought actually made him feel better. She did not know his true power, or his true identity. Of this he was now sure. But now, he had a part to play, and he was going to play it out to see where Morgana was trying to lead him.

"I…I…"

"Not going to try to deny it again, are you Magic Boy?" Morgana gloated as she set the looking glass aside.

"But…"

"It's so _sad_ realizing you've chosen to side with the wrong Pendragon, isn't it?"

So _that_ was her game: turn him against Arthur because he had magic. Well, whether it was the prudent choice or not, he would _never_ betray Arthur, even in disguise. "The hell I have!"

"All that loyalty _wasted_; given to a man who hates you."

"Arthur does not hate me."

"He hates your kind, Merlin. _Our_ kind. Like it or not, you and I are kin of a sort. We both have magic, and we would both be condemned for it if we were in Camelot."

Merlin curled his lip in distaste. "Well, _you_ would, certainly."

"And so would _you_, Merlin. Do not be so arrogant as to believe that the son of Uther Pendragon would spare your life simply because you are his servant."

"So then I don't use magic." Merlin would have shrugged if he were able to move his shoulders. "Wouldn't be that hard. Can't miss what I've never had."

"It's not that simple, Merlin. You are a warlock, not a sorcerer."

"What's the difference?"

Morgana rolled her eyes at this. Honestly, how did an _idiot_ like this end up with magic? "A sorcerer is not born with magic. They learn their craft through many long hours of study and training. A witch or a warlock is _born_ with magical ability."

"So?" It was almost amusing to Merlin to get a magic lesson from _Morgana_, of all people.

"So once your magic awakens inside of you, it will start to trickle out. You won't be able to help it, and you won't be able to control it. At least, not at first. You remember the fire in my room that time? My magic caused that. It wasn't until I started working with Morgause before I understood how to control it and bend it to my will."

"I don't feel anything, so I doubt if that's going to be a problem for me."

"You don't feel anything right now because I have enchanted your magic not to work properly. If you even knew how to search for it inside yourself, you'd notice it running away from you."

"How exactly does magic _run away_?" Merlin couldn't help asking the obtuse question; it was just _way_ too much fun messing with Morgana...

"Merlin," Morgana glared at him, annoyed. "You're missing the point. The point is that your magic is dormant no longer. It'll start leaking out of you and you'll give yourself away. Is that really the life you want to live? Constantly looking over your shoulder, never knowing if today will be the day you accidentally reveal your magic to Arthur? You're around him constantly, and even _he_ isn't so dense that he wouldn't notice if his bed curtains spontaneously combusted."

"I assume you're offering me an alternative?"

Morgana nodded. "I can take you under my wing, train you. Teach you how to use your gifts."

"And join you on your quest to take over Camelot, I'm sure. Why do I find that hard to believe?"

"_What_ do you find hard to believe?"

"That you would be willing to help me, unless it was right over a cliff. You blame me for the death of your sister and for the end of your short-lived reign, you said so yourself. You hate me because I had to poison you to save Camelot. Why in the hell do you think I'd believe that you'd want to _help_ me?"

"I am willing to put those things aside to help my magical kin. I would not want anyone magical to have to suffer through the fear and uncertainty that I did: wondering what is wrong with you, being terrified of being found out and wishing you could just go back to being normal. We are the same, you and I. We are alike."

Merlin bristled at her pronouncement. "Magic or not, Morgana…I will _never_ be like you. I will never betray my friends, the people who love me. I will never betray Camelot."

"Even if its king would see you burned you at the stake for no other reason than how you were born?"

Merlin lifted his chin defiantly. "Not even then. I will never, _ever_ betray Arthur."

Morgana's face morphed into a sneer. "You ought to be careful of what you say, Merlin. You may just end up eating your words."

* * *

A/N: Okay, I hope I am not offending anyone who actually knows how to read Old English. I'm sure I'm butchering the heck out of it with these spells!

_Drycraeft ungebunden, ac becriepp. Drycraeft aslupan ond ne forgrap._ - A magic unbound, but hidden. Magic that slides away and cannot be grasped.

_Breostgethanc acwedhe ne se banloca. Banloca mane hiereth breostgethanc._ - Mind speaks not to muscle. Muscle shall not hear mind.

_Ic i abene drycraeft to acydhan_. – I command the magic to reveal itself.


	4. Food for the Soul

**No Better Assassin**

**A/N**: _Ah, this chapter gave me some trouble. Ultimately, I think I like where things went, but it ended up a little shorter than I would have liked (yet it definitely didn't make sense to start back with Arthur and Gwaine again. When you get there, you'll understand why)._

_Yes, we will be back with Arthur and Gwaine next chapter and I hope to bring us up to the point where Merlin is found._

_Ah reviews, how do I love thee? Thanks again, everyone for all the love!_

* * *

Chapter 4: Food for the Soul

Morgana walked to the hearth, poured herself a serving of soup and, carrying it back to the table, sat facing Merlin. Then, pulling off a chunk of bread from the loaf, she delicately dipped a corner of it into the bowl and ate it.

Merlin's mouth watered in spite of himself. He couldn't quite remember when he'd last eaten, but it was certain to be at least 2 days ago. He clamped his eyes shut to block out the sight of the food…but he could still smell it, and his stomach protested loudly.

Morgana looked up from her meal, startled, and then snickered. "Oh, Merlin…where are my manners? You are my guest; I should have offered you some first." She got up from the table, carrying her soup bowl. Standing right in front of him so the aroma could not be ignored, she asked innocently, "Would you like some?"

Merlin opened his eyes and glowered at Morgana. If he could have used his magic in that moment, she might just have been cleaved in two by a lightning bolt. With the fragrant scent of soup offending his nostrils, his belly felt like a giant empty cavern. Yet, even though he was starving, he still wouldn't give her the satisfaction. "No."

Morgana tsked at him and then tantalizingly lifted the spoon to her mouth, wrapped her lips around it and swallowed the liquid, moaning her satisfaction in an almost suggestive manner.

She was taunting him; he knew that. Even still, he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Being a small-town boy who'd grown up rather sheltered, such overt displays of sensuality had always unnerved him. The realization that she knew this about him and was doing it a purpose just made him angrier.

"You're _sure_ you don't want any?" Morgana simpered taking another spoonful, licking the spoon clean this time.

Merlin's fingers itched to slap the triumphant smirk right off her face. "Go to hell, Morgana," he spit at her, bitterly wishing she were a few inches closer so he could head butt her.

Laughing with glee, she finally relented. "Oh, Merlin… you make it so easy! It's so fun getting a _rise_ out of you…" She turned and sauntered back to the table, this time sitting with her back to him to finish her meal.

Mortification flashed through him as he belatedly caught the double entendre in Morgana's words. Surreptitiously, Merlin looked down at himself…and heaved a silent sigh of relief to find them untrue. _That_ would have been utterly humiliating.

Discomfort of another kind settled in the pit of Merlin's stomach, making his muscles quiver. Morgana had a plan; he knew she did. And obviously, part of that plan was having him well and uninjured, as evidenced by her healing him. He'd already made clear that, regardless of their common bond of magic, he would not willingly help her. So, the question remained: What exactly was she going to do?

She would have to figure out a way to take away his will, Merlin realized grimly. That didn't sit well with him at all (okay, it was pretty damned terrifying) as he currently had no way to protect himself against her attack. He could only pray that, whatever it was, he would still be able to fight it. Because even though she didn't realize the full extent of his powers, her having control over what _he _could do would certainly be hazardous to Arthur's health…and anyone else who got in the way.

* * *

After Morgana ate and washed up, Merlin watched as she pulled a crucible on a stand from the corner, settling it in the space between them.

"Merlin," she called, and waited until his eyes met hers.

"What," he answered scathingly, trying to pour as much hatred and disgust as he could into the word.

Breezily, Morgana answered, "I just wanted to give you your first magic lesson." As extreme skepticism blossomed on Merlin's face, she chuckled. "Oh, don't worry…it's an easy one; even you'll be casting this one in no time. And you never know…it could be of some use." She smirked at him and then turned her attention to the crucible. Putting her hand out in its direction, she incanted clearly, "_Forbaerne_."

Instantly, the magical fire sprang to life inside the metal bowl as Merlin rolled his eyes. He'd been casting that spell non-verbally since before he could talk!

"Of course, not all of them are that easy," she continued, turning her head to study Merlin's expression. The flames reflected gold in his eyes…almost like magic. "But learning magic is worth it. Once you start casting spells, you'll never be able to go back, Merlin. The feeling of the power running through your veins is almost like a craving. Never will you feel so alive, so at one with the world around you. You won't want to let it go."

_It's true. There's nothing so heady and wonderful as the thrum of magic pulsing through you_, Merlin thought…and he felt bereft and barren without his. That thought brought a wave of anxiety in its wake. His eyes were drawn back to the fire-filled crucible. What was she going to do with that?

Merlin didn't have to wait long for an answer. Morgana reached into a pocket of her dress, retrieving a large pewter medallion. She was too far away to see the design that was stamped into it, but a suspicion grew in his mind as to what kind of magic she was about to cast.

In one of Gaius' many books on magic lore, he'd read about the subject of reanimation spells. Reanimation of magical creatures was considered dark magic, so it wasn't a subject Merlin was too keen on and therefore had skipped over the incantations he could have learned there. However, he did remember that they often required a physical representation of the creature to be rebirthed. Unease crept into Merlin's bones, making them ache almost like arthritis. He highly suspected he was not going to like the magical creature he was about to meet.

Cupping the medallion in her palm, Morgana stared intently at the image upon it as she incanted, "_Astige dhu fah ond getheowe dhaet mod dhisse theowes. Hine bind ond dha heold ond awendath he ealle_." Morgana's eyes glowed as she lightly tossed the metal disc into the fire. The flames in the crucible jumped up several feet as it consumed the medallion, and then the blaze faded away, leaving in its wake the distinct sound of snakes hissing.

_Or snake, rather_, Merlin thought, in parts fascinated by and horrified with the creature. It had several asp-like heads, but only one body. He'd never seen its like, but the waves of dark magic rippling out from it made him hope he'd never, ever see one again.

Merlin's discomfort must have shown on his countenance, because Morgana turned her triumphant magic-afterglow face to his and smirked. "I take it you've never seen a Fomorroh before." Almost in response to her voice, all the heads of the Fomorroh hissed at him in perfect synchronization.

Merlin couldn't help it; he shivered. But luckily, Morgana had turned away from him and was…_petting_ the thing like it was one of Arthur's dogs. "Aww," she cooed to it as if to a baby, "He's a little grumpy. He's not used to being out in the light. No, my friend…I've called you from your depths for a very good reason." She reached over and retrieved a dagger from the rock ledge next to her, contemplated the blade for a moment, and then grasped one of the heads on the creature and lopped it right off.

The creature made a squeal of protest, but did not otherwise react, as Merlin hoped it might. But his grimace of disgust at her cruelty was quickly replaced with wide-eyed horror. Even as the decapitated head in Morgana's hand still hissed and squirmed, the neck where it had been attached _grew another head_!

Morgana turned to look at him again. "Fomorrohs are creatures of dark magic. Even if you cut off their heads, you cannot kill them: another will just grow in its place."

Slowly, she stalked toward Merlin, like a cat with its prey. A shiver of foreboding rippled down his body. Merlin found that, petrified as he was, he could not look away from her. "In the days of the Old Religion, they were revered by the High Priestesses, because they allowed them to control people's minds." And there it was: Morgana's plan finally exposed. She was going to use the Fomorroh to force him to do her bidding.

This was bad: horribly, _terrifyingly_ bad. All of Merlin's nerve endings came alive and his every instinct screamed at him to get away, get away from Morgana _right now_. Desperately, he reached out for his magic again and it slipped away from him like a greased pig. His muscles clenched, as if prepared for battle, but his thighs and shoulders remained stubbornly relaxed.

In moment of temporary insanity, Merlin considered calling the Great Dragon to come to his aid and the consequences of that secret revealed be damned. But he knew in his heart that it was too late. Kilgharrah would never reach them in time to save him, and if Morgana _did_ manage to gain some sort of control over him, he didn't want the dragons anywhere _near_ Camelot.

Merlin fought to remain upright and strong, trying to defy Morgana to the very end. Anticipation lit her icy eyes as she crept ever closer. "The Fomorroh will suck the life-force out of you, and everything that makes you Merlin will be gone. And in its place will be just one thought, one thought that will grow until it has consumed you completely. One thought that will be your life's work. You will not be able to _rest_ until it's done."

The Fomorroh head hissed evilly as Morgana ducked under Merlin's arm to stand behind him. All his muscles trembled and he struggled just to remain on his feet. He _knew_. He knew the rest. She was going to force him to betray his best friend. She was going to make him kill Arthur.

Hot tears of despair and revulsion stung his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Even now, he would _not_ cower before her; she would _not_ break him.

Sure enough, Morgana's next words confirmed his fear. "And that thought is simple: You must kill Arthur Pendragon. And what's more, you will kill him…with magic."

"No…" Merlin could not stop himself from gasping the word aloud.

"Oh, yes," Morgana nearly cackled with glee.

Merlin bit his lip hard to keep himself from saying anything else.

"Originally, I wanted it done as quickly as possible. The sooner the better. But now that I know you have magic…this is _so_ much better. Imagine… Arthur's pet manservant, someone he trusts completely, killing him with the one thing he hates more than anything. It's ironic, don't you think?"

"Now, of course, I will understand if it takes you a little time to complete your mission. I'm not completely heartless, you know. And I don't expect you to be able do it with just the one spell I taught you. You should have a better variety of spells to choose from, I think."

Merlin felt Morgana's left hand cup the back of his head, and then suddenly his senses were swamped by visions. He heard spell after spell incanted in his mind, saw Morgana casting them, watched what they did. Most of them were simple spells that he already knew such as _astrice, akwele, hleap on baec, fleoge_, and so there was no discomfort in their invasion of his mind. But others…they were so dark and evil that he felt violated; his very soul rebelled against them and felt tainted by them. Merlin fought against the urge to vomit.

"There now. That should give you plenty of options. Learning magic takes time, Merlin, so you must be a good boy and promise to practice every night."

"Never."

Morgana's maniacal laugh right behind him made Merlin flinch in spite of himself. "Spoken as if you had a choice."

Her left hand slid down from his head and clasped him around the middle from the back, holding him against her so he could not struggle, while her right, the one holding the Fomorroh, cupped itself against the back of his neck.

This was it; there was nothing and no one who could save him now. No one but himself and his destiny…and he could only pray he was strong enough to win the battle for his very heart and soul before the only hope for Albion was destroyed.

* * *

Merlin couldn't hold back the screams of excruciating pain as the snake ate its way through his skin. As it squirmed into his neck and sealed itself in place, Merlin felt his body go numb and he hung from his wrists as if unconscious.

A sickly sweet haze crept around the edges of his mind, dulling his senses, making it almost impossible to distinguish fantasy from reality. Here, time had no meaning.

Against the backdrop of his eyelids, Merlin witnessed himself killing Arthur over and over with the various spells Morgana had taught him, each instance displayed in almost nauseatingly slow motion.

After watching each successful attempt, Merlin felt a wave of euphoria crash over him, more powerful than any other high he'd ever experienced. It was cloying and mind-numbing, blotting out all rational thought. And it was addicting, radically so. What had started out as horrifying (watching Arthur die at his hand) became less and less so with each repeated experience, until Merlin found he was actually _craving_ the visions, just to revisit the ecstasy that was his reward.

And then, without warning, the images disappeared, and Merlin felt his mind and soul reaching out after them, trying to grab onto the wispy tendrils of bliss to hold them fast. Raw desperation ate away at him; he wanted the rapturous feeling back. He _needed_ it.

"Don't worry, Merlin," Morgana's voice echoed in his mind, bringing with it small aftershocks of the gratification he was seeking. "Soon, I will set your magic free and that pleasure will be yours for the taking. All you have to do is what I asked, and those feelings will never leave you. They will be yours forever."

The addicted beast inside of Merlin roared in triumph at her words. It would be so easy, so effortless. To kill one man with magic, nothing could be simpler…even if that man was a king.

* * *

The Magic of the Old Religion roiled against the stream of Evil issuing from Its vessel of Supreme Good. The balance of the world was out of alignment...and It was furious. The balance _needed _to be restored else the fabric of magic Itself would be sundered. Its fury rolled out and away from the abomination, the ground trembling and the skies weeping, the earth itself trying to heal the deep sickness within.

* * *

Miles away in Camelot, Arthur Pendragon stared, unseeing, out his bedroom window at the deluge that pounded and punished every stone and tree. Even the furious streaks of white hot lightning did not startle him from his thoughts. _How?_ he kept wondering, his mind spinning in circles, _How could anyone survive out in the elements on a night like this, let alone a dying man?_

_They couldn't._

With a sigh, Arthur ran a weary hand down his face. He knew he needed to face the facts, the one he'd known from the moment Agravaine slapped that ragged piece of leather down in front of him in the counsel chambers. Merlin was gone. And he had no idea how he was going to survive without him.

Yes, Merlin was just a servant, but he had become so much more than that to him. Throughout everything Arthur had been through in the last seven years, Merlin had truly been the one constant.

He'd been the only person he could trust; the only one to whom he could confide his innermost thoughts. He was the only one who knew his deepest insecurities and the only one who could give him such wise counsel...but only when he really needed it.

He hated to admit it, but Arthur had grown dependent upon Merlin. Merlin was his touchstone; his tether to reality. Merlin never gave him more or less respect than he'd earned, regardless of title. Merlin was never afraid to tell him _exactly_ what he thought, whether Arthur wanted to hear it or not.

Arthur wondered exactly when the bumbling idiot had become so important to him. How was it that he grieved more deeply for the gangly, raven-haired young man with the irrepressible grin and twinkling eyes than he had his own father?

He couldn't answer because he knew that the affection had crept up on him over time, each shared experience layering one upon the other, creating the tapestry thread by thread until there was no explaining it: it just _was_. Merlin wasn't just his servant, no. He was more than a friend even...he was more like...family. Like a brother. A soul-brother.

And Arthur would give _anything _to have him back.

* * *

**A/N**: _Just to be clear, in case it wasn't obvious, the last scene with Arthur takes place the night before the beginning scene of the story...in time with what is happening with Merlin._

_All the spells mentioned in this chapter are ones from the episode or from other episodes, so I didn't bother with a glossary._


	5. Dual Nature

**No Better Assassin**

**A/N**: _This is where my story starts to really veer off from the plot of the episode. Part of this is for obvious reasons (Merlin's magic is now involved), but also because I thought that the situation with the Fomorroh should be much more dangerous than it was depicted in the show. _

_Merlin is literally fighting for his very soul, fighting to keep Arthur safe from himself, and I felt that situation should follow a much more serious story arc. _

_Hopefully, you'll still find this story worthwhile even without all the comic relief moments that were in the episode._

_Thanks again for all your support! I really love hearing from you!_

* * *

Chapter 5: Dual Nature

Consciousness came in the form of a weird squelching sound echoing from afar. Merlin tried to concentrate on the noise, tried to bring it closer, but it was if his own body was not connected to his mind.

Instinctively, Merlin reached for his magic…and breathed a sigh of internal relief when _finally_ it was there, still weak, but blue and gold and warm, fluttering against his soul, its touch softer than a butterfly wing.

Then the power was yanked unceremoniously from his grasp. It was then that he realized that he wasn't alone; he wasn't alone inside of his head. He heard a voice, more serpentine than human yet still so familiar, reverberating all around him, "No! That's mine…"

The confusion lasted only a split second before memory after memory pounded into Merlin, battering him with their coldness and brutality. _The hut. Morgana. The Fomorroh. Fear. Agony. Addiction. Magic._

Shivering in their wake, Merlin opened his inner eyes and stared upon…himself. This other self was wild-eyed and desperate, the pain of withdrawal causing him to shake uncontrollably. Yet, there was a certain manic quality about the way his face shone, and his eyes were black, not blue…the serpent's eyes instead of his own.

Merlin reached out with his mind toward his other self, wondering if there was anything he could do to help it. But the moment his thoughts reached his alter ego, Merlin was thrown into a tempest of swirling color. His mouth felt parched and his head felt fit to burst, it pounded so badly. He could taste the desperation, the cloying sweetness of the sickness on his tongue and out of sheer self-preservation, he dragged himself backward and severed the connection, huddling into a tiny mass and praying for the nauseating sensations to subside.

_So that's the part of me controlled by the Fomorroh, then_…the significantly larger part that currently controlled his physical body. Yet—Merlin opened his eyes and looked down at his ethereal body to be sure that he was indeed a separate entity—he was still here, too. Morgana was wrong. The creature had not taken all of him, at least not yet.

But how? How was he even _here_? How had he not completely succumbed to what Merlin knew was an almost irresistible power? He knew the answer almost before he'd thought the question.

_Magic_. His magic had saved him. When Morgana had inserted the Fomorroh, she had been withholding access to his magic, and without it, he could not fight off the effects of the creature. But, since she wanted Merlin to use his magic against Arthur, she had to release her hold on it…and when she did, it apparently came to his aid. It was almost as if the magic itself was rebelling against the evil presence forced inside of him, and it fought to preserve at least this small part of himself from the insanity of the Fomorroh's control.

And as long as he, the _real_ Merlin, was still here, he would continue the battle to protect Arthur, even if it meant fighting against himself.

* * *

Arthur staggered backward for a moment before his bottom plopped unceremoniously onto the log he tripped over. "_What_?"

"Yeah," Gwaine nodded with amusement, taking a swig from his water skin. "It was made out of a phoenix's eye. At least, I _think_ that's what Merlin said. Sucks the life force out of people if worn too long. Where'd you get it, anyhow?"

Arthur's head was still swimming with the meaning and repercussions of what he was hearing. "Morgana gave it to me."

"Well, there you go, then," Gwaine exclaimed as if that explained everything.

"Morgana tried to kill me…" Arthur whispered, dumbfounded.

"Won't be the last time, mate," Gwaine answered cheekily, patting Arthur on the shoulder.

"Yeah, but…" Arthur's mind wandered back to the moment when Morgana gave him the trinket:

_She had looked so frightened for him, so worried. She pulled it off her arm from under her night robe and held it out to him, the yellow gem gleaming even in the candlelight. "Wear this?" she pleaded, her heart in her eyes. "It's to keep you safe."_

_Slowly he reached out and took it from Morgana's outstretched hand. Fascinated with the wing patterns on either side of the stone, he hadn't even met her eyes when he said, "Thanks."_

Like a man reaching for straws, Arthur wondered if perhaps…perhaps she didn't know what it did. Maybe she'd never meant to harm him. But even as he thought it, he knew it couldn't be true:

"_Promise me you'll wear it."_

_Arthur looked at her in surprise. The armlet was rather…girly. It wouldn't do for people to see him wearing such a thing. _

_His expression must have given away his thoughts to her because Morgana giggled and grasped his hand in hers. "Promise me!"_

_And suddenly, he found himself agreeing; he never could say no to Morgana. "I will."_

_Nodding, she said solemnly, "Keep it close. Don't ever remove it. That way I can be with you every step of the way."_

No, she'd known exactly what she was doing; Arthur felt it deep down inside.

A new wave of betrayal lashed at him, flaying open emotional wounds that had not yet even begun to heal. Of course, it made sense that she'd been his enemy for a lot longer than he'd known of it; it would have taken her a while for her hatred to build up to the level it had. Still, he'd always thought that her anger had been directed at his father, not him. This knowledge tainted what had once been a happy memory for him.

And _somehow_ Merlin had known of it. He'd figured out the truth and had followed him into the Perilous _bloody_ Lands to save him, picking up Gwaine on the way for help (thank the Gods). _Sounds just like something that __**idiot**__ would do_, Arthur thought.

He remembered waking sprawled out on the floor inside the Fisher King's castle to Merlin's cheeky grin…and being furious with him.

_Good Gods_, Merlin had just saved his life and he had _yelled_ at him. Maybe he really _was_ a dollop-head.

But now he was also the king. So many people wanted a piece of him. Yet, so few wanted to be a part of his life because of whom he was, rather than what he was. The gift of true friendship was invaluable: It was one of the first lessons Merlin had ever taught him.

He'd _thought_ Morgana was his friend. But he'd been wrong. He and all of Camelot had suffered because of his mistake. He wondered how many more betrayals he would have to endure – how many more he _could_ endure – before his heart would truly break.

* * *

Slowly, warily, Merlin beckoned to his magic once more, and a tiny wisp of it wafted toward him, skulking low and in the shadows. It stayed out of Fomorroh-Merlin's line of sight and Merlin sighed as it connected and resonated within him, a joyous homecoming.

He knew in that moment that his theory about the magic being his savior was correct. Suddenly, he felt stronger, more able to resist the eerie allure of the dark magic that held the rest of his soul enthralled. With almost no effort, Merlin split this miniscule trace of magic away from the whole, watching intently to see if his Fomorroh-self would notice the loss.

It did not. Its focus seemed to be elsewhere. Merlin took a chance and pulled another strand of magic toward him, and then another. Carefully, he disconnected them from the whole and folded them carefully into the magical flicker already housed inside of him, leaving no trail outside of himself for the Fomorroh-Merlin to find.

Merlin knew he had to tread lightly and move carefully. For now, his other self did not feel threatened by his presence. He'd like to keep it that way. If he could continue to steal tiny pieces of magic away like this, Merlin hoped to weaken the Fomorroh's hold on him.

Perhaps with enough time and effort he could even build up enough magical strength to stage a coup to regain control of his body.

Then suddenly, Merlin's concentration shattered when he was bombarded by the sense of smell, washing around him from all sides. Whatever it was that his body was smelling, it was _rank_. Vile. Worse than Arthur's socks after a three-day hunting trip.

After a moment, Merlin placed the stench. Sulfur. Putting that piece of information together with the slurpy wet sound he remembered had woke him, he realized where he was: lying prone in a peat bog.

_Very funny, Morgana_. _Or not_.

* * *

Several minutes passed in silence as the two men finished breaking their fast. Gwaine was packing up the remainder of the food while Arthur unhitched the horses.

"You said Merlin told you about the armlet. How did _he_ know what it was?"

Gwaine shrugged, shined the side of an apple on his pant leg and took a large bite. "Dunno, he didn't say," he answered around bits of apple. "But he does live with Gaius, and I swear that man knows _everything_!"

"Makes sense, I suppose. Did Merlin say anything to you about Morgana?"

"No. Should he have?"

Arthur shook his head distractedly. "I guess not. It's just…apparently he realized that Morgana might try to harm me; he knew she was no friend of Camelot months before she and Morgause staged their coup. I was just wondering _how_ he knew."

Gwaine mounted his horse and then looked back at Arthur with a shrug. "Dunno. But then, Merlin doesn't reveal many of his secrets, does he?"

Arthur was startled and disturbed when he realized just how true that statement was. While Merlin had always been his sounding board, the perfect listening ear, Arthur could not honestly say that he'd ever been that person for Merlin. In fact, while Merlin knew just about all of Arthur's secrets, he didn't believe that Merlin had shared any of his with him.

But far from blaming his manservant, Arthur understood that he'd probably never given Merlin much of a chance. Arthur wasn't much good with flowery words or girly sentiments. In truth, he didn't have much practice in the art of friendship, Merlin having been his only real friend until just recently, and even then, Arthur often retreated behind his title with Merlin when the emotions got too hard to handle.

He realized that in the past, he'd sort of taken for granted that Merlin was pretty much an open book; that what you saw with him was what you got. He was just so open and friendly to everyone. Now he knew that there was definitely more to Merlin than met the eye. It was so obvious now that it made Arthur wonder what _else_ he'd missed about his friend.

Some indefinable truth was just hanging out of reach; he knew it was, but it kept slipping away every time he'd get close to it.

Sighing, Arthur pulled himself up into the saddle and put it out of his mind. After all, he didn't need any more distractions keeping him from his search. He was going to find Merlin and bring him home, dead or alive.

* * *

Merlin sat quietly in his corner of his mind, occasionally squirreling away miniscule bits of magic and pondering his current predicament.

Concentrating, Merlin attempted to tune in on what his eyes could see, and was pleased to discover that he could. Not that his will would have changed what the eyes were doing or even change their direction, but at least he could experience what the Fomorroh was making his body do.

And right now, his body was trying to climb out of the muddy pit Morgana had left him in…and not particularly succeeding. His already filthy boots lost traction and Merlin felt his body face plant right into the mud.

Merlin sighed to himself as his body attempted to right itself. _With all this magic the Old Religion saw fit to gift me with, you'd think that it could have given me a little more coordination, too!_

* * *

Arthur and Gwaine had been riding for about an hour when suddenly a strange feeling came over Arthur—a sort of unexplained _energy_ thrummed through his veins. It almost felt like the adrenaline that rushed into him at the beginning of a battle, but it had a softer, gentler feel to it. Pulling up on his horse's reins, Arthur put a hand to his temple, lightheaded.

Turning to Gwaine, who'd stopped beside him, he asked, "Gwaine, what exactly did you have packed in the water skins? Did you sneak mead into them today or something?"

Gwaine looked at Arthur askance. "No, I didn't…but that's a bang-up idea, now that you mention it," he grinned unrepentantly. "Why, what's wrong?"

Arthur reached around and grabbed his water skin and tossed it to Gwaine. "Smell this, would you?"

Gwaine obediently opened the top of the container, sniffed it and then took a tiny swig, tasting the water before spitting it out. He shrugged. "Seems fine to me, Princess. Why?"

_There it was again_, Arthur thought, his other hand coming up to massage his temple. "I…don't know. I just…" It was like a fly buzzing around, but inside his head. A twinge of panic twisted Arthur's stomach and he wondered for a moment if he were enchanted…and then as quickly as it had come, the buzzing stopped.

After a moment, the sensation changed. It felt as if Arthur's insides were _glowing_… He actually looked down at himself, half-expecting light to be emanating from his pores. But, surprisingly, this sensation did not elicit fear or suspicion because it felt…friendly and non-threatening. Golden. Familiar. _Achingly_ familiar.

"Merlin," Arthur breathed in almost awe. He was shocked, but suddenly he _knew_. Merlin was _alive_, miraculously alive and somewhere in the forest not far from them.

"Arthur?" Gwaine questioned, giving Arthur a confused and worried look. He knew that Arthur was not taking Merlin's loss at all well, but this sudden bizarre behavior was scaring him. Was Arthur finally losing it? Should he go and get some help?

Without even glancing at Gwaine, Arthur turned his horse and it ambled forward off the path and right into the low brush. "It's this way," he said confidently, knowing without a doubt that it was the truth.

Gwaine raised his eyebrows and stared unbelieving after Arthur for several moments before finally shaking his head, turning his mount and following.

* * *

If Arthur had been asked after the fact what drew him to that specific spot, he could not have answered, other than to say that it _felt_ right.

"You know what I liked about Merlin?" Gwaine was asking Arthur, chattering conversationally as he trotted along just behind him. "He never expects any praise. All these things he does just for the good of doing them…" Gwaine trailed off as Arthur put up his arm in a "Hold!" gesture.

Arthur pulled up on his horse and Gwaine followed suit. They both strained to listen for any sound out of place…and after a moment, they heard it: a soft release of breath that was decidedly human followed by an awkward squelching noise.

Arthur practically leapt off his horse, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. His insides felt that warm glow again, but stronger, more powerful. Almost magnetic in nature, it pulled him a few steps closer to the sound even as he raised his sword and demanded, "Declare yourself!"

There was a pregnant pause as Arthur raised his chin in the direction of the noise, the challenge in his stance obvious. After a moment, he heard a slurpy footstep…then another. And then a tall, gangly man literally _tripped_ his way into the clearing.

The buzzing noise was back in Arthur's head, but this time, he knew it was from utter and complete shock.

The man in front of him had regained his footing and straightened, turning towards him at last. He was covered head to toe in mud from the bog; it was plastered down his entire front, slathered across his boots. It covered his face like a mask, and slicked his hair into pointing straight up off the top of his head. But there was absolutely no mistaking the lopsided, ear-to-ear grin that blossomed on his face as his eyes connected with Arthur's.

_It was Merlin_.


	6. Love, Lies and Loyalty

**No Better Assassin**

A/N: _Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter posted. I went away for a pseudo-vacation, and it didn't turn out to be very vacation-y. Sigh. Hopefully, I can make up for it by this chapter being a bit longer. _

_One reviewer of the last chapter (who shall remain nameless since they posted as a Guest...) begged me not to ruin the Bromance Hug. On the contrary, I hope to have made the moment that much better, because Merlin actually **remembers** it!_

_I thank you all for your support and reviews. They inspire me so much!_

_PS: I have tweaked the end of this chapter a bit, so perhaps you might give it a quick re-read before moving on? Thanks!  
_

* * *

Chapter 6: Love, Lies and Loyalty

Arthur literally could not believe his eyes. As much as he'd hoped this moment would happen, he'd known the chances of finding Merlin alive were very slim. So to see him standing right in front of him (albeit covered in slime) was nothing short of astonishing.

Arthur's eyebrows rose in unison as he heard Merlin's breathless laugh in response to his eye contact.

"Merlin!" he heard his own mouth say, but the moment was so profound, it was almost as if Arthur were watching it from outside himself. His own eyes brightened, shiny with unshed tears as he thrust his sword into the ground.

"I thought we'd lost you!" he declared as his feet carried him toward Merlin of their own volition. Merlin met him half way. As he let out a relieved, ecstatic laugh, Arthur yanked his best friend into a bear hug…and didn't care one whit that Merlin literally stank to high heaven.

* * *

Merlin knew long before he heard anything: Arthur was here. Somewhere close. He could _feel_ it. Somehow, some way, Arthur would succeed where all others had failed and was going to find him: a human needle in a haystack.

Merlin didn't know whether to feel elated or terrified. As much as he missed Arthur and couldn't wait to see him again, due to his own precarious state, Merlin was definitely leaning toward the latter.

From afar, he could hear the sound of approaching horses. As the Fomorroh enabled his body's senses, Merlin used that second of distraction to break off the largest piece of his magic from it yet. Although he knew that he only controlled one small sample of the full body of his magic, Merlin was unused to housing the power completely inside of his soul in this way. Usually it was his physical body that created the vessel.

This felt different, strange, but not in a bad way. It was almost as if he'd swallowed a bunch of fireflies and he was glowing from the inside out. Not that he was complaining; he was thankful to exist at all at that moment.

Merlin felt his body's pulse accelerate and his breath catch when the Fomorroh heard Arthur's voice. He chanced a look at his counterpart and was disgusted by the sudden flush of his cheeks and glaze of his eyes…but it was a good thing he did. Merlin had just enough time to throw up a shield to barricade him from the tempest of drugged pleasure that suddenly swamped his other self.

_Damn_, Merlin thought, as he watched the haze that clouded his other mind unfold. _I'll need to watch out for that from now on._ If he had let his guard down even for a second, he would have been lost under the onslaught.

With the magical equivalent of holding one's breath underwater, Merlin took advantage of the current disturbance. He opened his shield a crack and yanked a thick cord of magic through it, then shut the wall up tight behind it again. He felt a trace of the numbing quality of the enchantment, but it quickly faded away; his magic shedding it like a snakeskin as his soul soaked the power in.

Merlin then focused on his physical body and willed himself to see, hear, and feel. His body was moving, walking, stumbling as it climbed out of the mud pit and into a clearing. His neck turned and a smile bloomed on his lips as his eyes saw their prey for the first time: Arthur Pendragon.

It was lucky that Merlin had already erected his magic barrier, because another strong wave quaked through his mind at the sight of his friend.

Yet, Merlin was experiencing a pleasure of his own. If such a thing were possible, Merlin was sure that his own heart (the one housed inside the piece of soul in which he currently resided) was beating double-time from the look of utter disbelief and joy on Arthur's face. And Arthur's voice calling out his name and his bright laugh of discovery was like a precious gift to him.

Merlin heard his own voice release a hoot of delight (the Fomorroh was happy to be in attacking distance of Arthur, even if it was too soon to act), but he echoed the sentiment for entirely different reasons. He felt his body lope giddily toward Arthur and was stunned and elated to feel Arthur's fingers dig into his shoulders before they pulled him unceremoniously into an honest-to-goodness double-armed hug.

For seven and a half years, Merlin had dedicated himself to Arthur, all he stood for and all that he could be. And honestly, while he'd felt that over time the two of them had built a rather unorthodox friendship, Merlin had always feared deep down that it was rather one-sided. While Merlin had no difficulty expressing his feelings for his best friend, Arthur had never been able to express his emotions particularly well. Most of the time, Arthur's feelings leaked out in their good-natured bickering. Once in a while, Merlin would receive a "friendly" punch to the arm. Rarely, _very_ rarely, Arthur would actually sling an arm around Merlin's shoulder for a moment or two.

So, to say that Merlin was shocked and astounded by this unabashed display of affection from Arthur would definitely have been an understatement. For one brief, shining moment, despite the inherent danger, everything was all right with the world. Merlin was Arthur's equal, not a servant. He was a trusted friend, a brother. He was home. He fit in; he _belonged_. It was the greatest reward for his loyalty and friendship that Merlin could have asked for.

The significance of Arthur's display, therefore, was not lost on Merlin. Pride, affection and fraternal love swelled within him, and while it was the Fomorroh who forced Merlin's arms around Arthur, it was _Merlin_ who caused his fingers to twitch, curling possessively into Arthur's chain mail. It was Merlin's tears of happiness that clouded the Fomorroh's vision, and it was _definitely_ Merlin who caused his lips to form the reverent word "Arthur…" that ghosted out on his exhaled breath to whisper into his friend's ear.

A long moment passed where the two men stood suspended in time, bound by their sense of homecoming and shared affection...and then it was gone. Arthur pulled away from Merlin, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder to hold him at arm's length. With a chuckle, Arthur released Merlin and complained, "Good Gods, Merlin! How did you _get_ so dirty?"

Merlin immediately thought, _Morgana_, but his mouth responded, "Oh, you know me, Sire…I tripped."

Something about the tone of Merlin's voice seemed off to Arthur, although he couldn't put his finger on how. Shrugging, he looked Merlin up and down. It was virtually impossible to determine the state of Merlin's wounds through the amount of mud that covered him. "You all right?"

"Of course, Sire," Merlin's mouth answered for him. "I'm fine."

Arthur's brow furrowed at this and he stared at Merlin for a long moment.

_Yes_, Merlin thought as loudly as he could. _Come on, Arthur. You __**know**__ I was badly injured. Notice something is wrong. **Please** notice!_

But before Arthur could question further, he was shoved sideways, and being caught off guard by the motion, he stumbled a little. "All right, Princess…you've hogged Merlin long enough. My turn!"

Gwaine laughed and put his arm out toward Merlin in a Knight's salute. "Forgive me if I don't come any closer, mate, but you reek!"

The Fomorroh was annoyed by Gwaine separating him from his target, and let him know it with his eyes, even though he did place his hand upon Gwaine's forearm, clasping it just long enough to be proper. Merlin's body nodded at his friend solemnly and said only, "Gwaine," in greeting.

Gwaine frowned a bit. He'd expected Merlin to laugh and respond with a mock-surly retort. _Ah well, perhaps he's just tired_, he thought, and brushed his doubts aside.

"Betcha can't wait to get back to Camelot, eh Bog-man?" Gwaine aimed a cheeky grin at his friend.

Fomorroh-Merlin didn't answer; he just turned and looked at Arthur expectantly.

Arthur took the hint. "Gwaine, shut up. Merlin is probably exhausted, sore and starving. Get him a piece of that leftover bread from lunch, would you?"

Nodding, Gwaine padded back to his mount and fished around in the saddlebag until he retrieved the chunk of bread.

Arthur placed a steadying hand on Merlin's right shoulder and told him, "We should get you up in the saddle and head back to Camelot if we want to make it before nightfall. I'm sorry; I know it won't be comfortable for you, but I want to get you back to Gaius as soon as possible."

Turning toward Gwaine, Arthur decreed, "Merlin rides with me."

_As if there were ever any doubt_, Gwaine thought, rolling his eyes. "Whatever you say, Princess. I'm surprised you don't mind getting your hands dirty." Eyeing Arthur up and down and taking note of all the mud smudged upon him, Gwaine shook his head. "But I suppose it's a little too late for that, anyway."

Arthur looked down at himself and realized belatedly that his hug with Merlin has transferred some of the filth from one chest to another. He shrugged. "That's okay…Merlin can clean it up later," he smiled at his servant, cocking one eyebrow in challenge.

The Fomorroh put Merlin's foot into the stirrup and swung his body onto the saddle of Arthur's horse easily. "Whatever you say, Sire," was his response. His response was all that was proper, which brought the crease back between Arthur's eyebrows. The words he could have believed…_if_ they'd been said with sarcasm, which they weren't.

Arthur waved Gwaine forward to provide Merlin with the bread, which he accepted and meekly began to eat.

_Something is __**really**__ not right_, Arthur deliberated, staring at the back of his servant's head. _Merlin was badly wounded; or at least he was the last time I saw him. He should __**not**__ have been able to pull himself onto the horse like that._ Vowing to speak to Gaius about the matter when he got back, he put his foot in the stirrup and pushed himself into position behind Merlin. Settling in behind the saddle, Arthur encouraged Merlin to lie back against him and grabbed the reins, flicking them with a quick gesture.

To Merlin, he said, "Let's go home."

* * *

Word of Merlin's discovery and imminent return alive had long-since arrived at Camelot, courtesy of the advanced guard that was dispatched with the news the moment Gwaine and Arthur came across him in the forest. Therefore, by the time the two horses ambled into town at nearly sunset, quite a crowd had assembled, wanting to witness the miracle for themselves. Shopkeepers and peasants lined the edges of the Lower Square, leaving a wide berth down the center for the horses to pass through unhindered. There were many smiles and even a few cheers as the threesome passed.

As the horses clip-clopped across the drawbridge and into the Citadel, Arthur glanced down at Merlin, who was drifting in and out of slumber on his shoulder. This behavior was much more expected of a man who'd lost a lot of blood in the last few days, and it stole away some of Arthur's earlier suspicion. He could only hope that Merlin's wound was not too infected and his friend was on the mend.

Looking up, Arthur was proud to see that a small group had assembled at the steps of the castle. On one side of the main statue stood several men at attention; his closest and most trusted knights: Leon, Elyan, Percival, and his uncle Agravaine. And standing off to the side of this formation were Gwen and Gaius, tears glittering in both their eyes as they held each other's hands, wordlessly lending support to one another.

_It was a hero's welcome, to be sure_, Arthur thought as he pulled his horse to a stop next to the group. _Too bad Merlin's not awake enough to appreciate it_…

* * *

As Merlin felt himself being carefully tucked backwards onto Arthur's shoulder, he gratefully disconnected himself from his outer senses. It was hard work maintaining the unnatural connection safely and Merlin was surprised at how drained he felt when he finally let it go. He gave in to the exhaustion, sure that his other self would not attempt anything against Arthur this soon and if Merlin was going to be strong enough to fight off those urges later, he needed to rest now.

The rhythmic swaying of Arthur's horse and the safety of his friend's grasp quickly lulled both Merlin and his other self to sleep, his body requiring the rejuvenation. Therefore, Merlin was relatively shocked to find himself literally surrounded by his friends and family (_and Agravaine_, he thought wryly) in Camelot's main courtyard.

Merlin's senses reengaged mid-motion and mid-sentence. He felt two sets of hands against his right side, pulling him toward them as he heard, "…down for you, Sire." _Leon's voice. Percival and Elyan's hands_, Merlin thought disjointedly. He startled as his world tilted off balance, his body trying to catch itself before falling.

"Whoa," Percival breathed, placing a steadying hand on Merlin's shoulder. "You're okay, Merlin. It's just us." Carefully, a third set of hands touched him—_Leon_—and helped him to right himself upon legs as wobbly as a newborn colt.

Merlin felt his hands grasp Percival's meaty forearms, using him as ballast until his knees seemed willing to hold up his weight. Before the Fomorroh-Merlin could even unclench his fingers from the knight's arm, Merlin felt two slender arms wind around his neck and a soft body press against his chest. While his alter ego did not react, Merlin felt himself sigh at the contact. _Gwen_. Even without the current use of his eyes, there was no mistaking her soothing presence.

"Oh, Merlin," she breathed against his ear, "Thank goodness you're all right! We were so worried about you!"

His Fomorroh-self squirmed slightly in her embrace, apparently not liking the distance it created between itself and Arthur. Gwen noticed the motion and pulled back in fear that she was hurting Merlin. "Oh, sorry," she mumbled, loosening her grip and stepping back to make room for Gaius.

Merlin's vision suddenly blinked on, temporarily disorienting him. He had just had a split second to take in Gwen's flushed cheeks before his mentor's face blocked out his view of her. Gaius looked as if he'd aged 15 years overnight. He made a move to hug Merlin in a similar fashion to Gwen when a hand appeared on his shoulder to stop him.

"He's injured, Gaius," Arthur's voice reminded him.

The old man's eyes narrowed with pain at this thought and he nodded with a weary sigh. Instead, Merlin felt Gaius' hand cradle the side of his face and smooth back his hair. "My boy…" he breathed, and again Merlin felt his own tears obscure the Fomorroh's vision.

_Gaius_, Merlin thought, his own internal voice catching with unshed emotion, but his body's voice remained stubbornly silent on the matter…and then, as if for punishment for his momentary control, Merlin's connection to his eyes stubbornly switched off.

"He's probably in shock," he heard Arthur's voice say gently, in an obvious attempt to comfort Gaius. "He slept most of the way back." There was a momentary pause, and then, Arthur's King voice commanded, "Take him up to Gaius's chambers immediately and stay with him until Gaius arrives. He will be there shortly."

"Yes, Sire," a quartet of voices answered in unison. Again, Merlin felt several sets of hands on him: the small of his back, each arm at the shoulder, propping him up lest he fall.

"It's okay, Merlin," Elyan's voice soothed from his right. "Let us do the work for you."

"Yeah, we've got you," Leon promised from behind.

"No problem, mate," Gwaine agreed.

"You'll be fine. Gaius'll fix you right up," Percival chimed in from his left.

And even while his body tripped and swayed its way woodenly through the castle, Merlin's soul, still trapped inside himself, _beamed, _truly humbled by the loving concern of his friends.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Sire," Gaius said to Arthur after Merlin and the knights had disappeared into the castle. It was not a question.

"Yes, Gaius, I did. Please walk with me." He motioned to his right side and the elderly physician and he took the steps one at a time in unison. They had just gained the main entrance doors when Arthur opened his mouth to speak.

Something stopped him before he even began. The hairs prickled on the back of Arthur's neck and, turning his head, he noticed Agravaine two steps behind them. A sudden unease that he couldn't explain filled the pit of Arthur's stomach. An unexpected impulse warned him to send the man away, to not speak to him of these particular thoughts. Guilt warred with instinct, but in the end, instinct won.

Arthur turned and leveled his gaze at Agravaine. "Uncle," he said by way of greeting.

Agravaine bowed respectfully. "Sire."

"Is there something I can help you with?" Arthur was polite, but his voice still held that indefinable air of authority.

Agravaine's eyes searched Arthur's face for a moment before they dropped to the floor again respectfully. "I thought that I might accompany you to Gaius's chambers, Arthur. I…feel badly about yesterday and wish to see how Merlin is doing."

Despite the very plausible reason for Agravaine's presence behind them, Arthur could not quite shake the unease he felt.

Gently, Arthur shook his head. "I very much doubt that Merlin will be up to any visitors today, Uncle. I believe he's been through quite an ordeal. I think it's best he remain undisturbed until such time that Gaius deems him fit to return to duty."

Agravaine seemed slightly perturbed by Arthur's reaction, but quickly recovered. "Of course, Sire. As you wish."

But Arthur had caught that millisecond of displeasure and it cemented his decision. "Perhaps you could notify the Council of my return? Let them know that I will convene with them shortly."

Agravaine gave Arthur a perfunctory nod and, with a twitch of his eyes in Gaius's direction, headed off in the opposite direction to fulfill his duty.

Gaius watched this interaction with interest, vaguely surprised by Arthur's sudden wariness of Agravaine. He wondered what had triggered it.

With a touch to the older man's elbow, Arthur steered Gaius down a deserted hallway and into an unused guest chamber, peering down the hallway in both directions before clicking the door shut behind them.

Gaius raised an eyebrow in silent query. "Arthur, what is this all about? I'd like to see to Merlin."

Arthur started to pace, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes trained on the floor as if in concentration. "I know. I won't keep you long."

Gaius nodded, waiting for Arthur to continue.

After Arthur paced a couple more laps, deep in self-thought, he seemed to come to some sort of decision. He stopped and met Gaius's eyes.

"The Phoenix Eye bracelet…" he prompted, a hint of steel underscoring the tentative statement. There was no question that this was the King of Camelot asking, and he expected truth in response.

Gaius's eyes widened in shock at the mention of the item…but not surprise, Arthur noted wryly.

"So, you knew about it, then," Arthur deduced shrewdly.

"I did, Sire," Gaius confirmed. Caution and worry schooled his features. "If I may ask…how did _you_ learn of it?"

"From Gwaine," Arthur admitted, a bit sheepishly.

"Ah." That one syllable spoke volumes. Gaius obviously knew much more than he was willing to let on.

Letting that slide for the moment, Arthur moved on to the next inquiry. "My question is…how did _Merlin_ know?"

Again, Arthur watched as Gaius's eyes became hooded. He seemed to choose each word with care. "He didn't. Not at first. He saw it on your arm and noted its…unusual design. When he made mention of it to me, it sparked a memory, prompting a search which revealed to us its identity and purpose."

Arthur raised a skeptical eyebrow. The explanation felt just a _little_ too neat, too convenient for his liking. "There's more to this story, Gaius. I know there is."

Gaius's gaze was deceptively blank. "Whatever do you mean, Sire?" he asked with an innocent air.

Arthur stared at the physician with exasperation, wondering just how many times in the past he'd actually _fallen_ for that look. "He knew!" he exclaimed emphatically, Arthur's hands gesturing his agitation. "Merlin _knew_ Morgana was trying to harm me. He knew she was betraying me, betraying my father, betraying Camelot."

Gaius's eyes fell to the floor guiltily. "Yes," he admitted softly, his voice full of pain both remembered and in empathy for the pain he was causing Arthur now.

Arthur stalked away angrily and then turned right back, his blue eyes almost spitting fire. "Why didn't he _say_ something?" he demanded in frustration.

Gaius's only response was one imperiously raised eyebrow. Arthur took that to mean that the answer should have been obvious to him, and he sighed wearily. Then, in a quieter, more solemn voice, he voiced what he'd really meant to say, "Why didn't he tell _me_?"

"Arthur," Gaius chided softly, his eyes compassionate and understanding. "It wasn't that Merlin didn't trust you. Morgana was your father's _ward, _and she was_ your friend_. Merlin was just a servant; it would have been his word against hers. Who would have believed him? Certainly not your father, and he didn't want to put you in the middle...to make you have to divide your loyalty between them."

Arthur knew Gaius was right. There was little Merlin could have done, but it didn't mean Arthur had to like it.

"How long?" he asked dully.

"Sire?"

Arthur's shoulders slumped as if he were supporting a great weight. "How _long_ had Morgana been betraying us?"

Compassion softened the physician's naturally intense gaze."It is uncertain, Sire, but Merlin discovered it to be true not long before the attack on Camelot by the Knights of Medhir."

"What?" Arthur felt lightheaded and had to grip the tabletop in front of him to keep from swaying on his feet. _All that time?_

"She was in league with Morgause," Gaius explained gently. "Morgause enchanted the Knights to attack and also caused the sleeping sickness that infected Camelot."

"_That's_ why the sickness didn't affect her, then," Arthur intoned grimly.

"Yes and no," Gaius corrected. "It is uncertain whether Morgana was aware of it, but her body was being used as the vessel for the enchantment. That is the reason she didn't fall ill."

Arthur's eyebrows crinkled together in confusion. "What do you mean the 'vessel for the enchantment'?"

"An enchantment of that magnitude needs something to maintain it once cast; a life force," Gaius explained patiently. "The spell can then only be broken by destroying the vessel."

Arthur's mouth gaped open as that information sunk in. Even having faced the Knights of Medhir, he'd never realized just how dangerous and desperate the situation had been. "Then how is it that we are still here, Gaius? How did we survive such powerful magic?"

Gaius let out a resigned sigh. "It was Merlin, Sire. He blackmailed Morgause into abandoning her scheme."

Arthur stared at Gaius incredulously. "What? How did he do that?"

Gaius slowly leveled his gaze on Arthur, his face intense. "By damaging the vessel."

"Damaging…_Morgana_…" Arthur said slowly, the truth dawning on him as the words left his mouth.

"Yes," Gaius confirmed with a terse nod. "Merlin poisoned her."

A look of abject horror flooded Arthur's face. He sat down in the chair in front of him, afraid his knees would give out beneath him.

_Merlin poisoned Morgana._ _Good Lord_! Arthur couldn't believe it. He couldn't even _imagine_ Merlin harming anything or anyone, but yet he knew it must be true, seeing as they had survived the attack.

"He _had_ to," Gaius added gently, sitting down beside Arthur and placing a placating hand on his arm. "It was the only way."

Arthur tried to envision having to make that choice: having to murder a friend for the good of the kingdom…and Arthur knew that Merlin had considered Morgana a friend, or at least a _former_ friend; someone you once cared about. The horror and revulsion and self-hatred he felt at just this _imagined_ scenario was debilitating. How Merlin had found the strength and loyalty enough to follow through with such a terrible decision, he didn't know.

"But wait…" Arthur struggled to understand Merlin's logic. "Why would _Morgause_ care about _Morgana_? Couldn't she just have used another 'vessel' for the spell?"

Gaius nodded. "She could have, but Merlin gambled on the fact that Morgause wouldn't want to let Morgana die."

Even for Merlin's more idiotic, reckless moments, this seemed extreme. Arthur wondered what vital piece of information he was missing. "Why?"

Gaius released a long, weary sigh. "Because Morgause is Morgana's sister."

It was a very good thing that Arthur was already sitting, because he was pretty sure he _would_ have keeled over at that moment if he weren't.

"_Morgause_ is my sister, too?" A creepy, slimy feeling gathered in the vicinity of Arthur's heart. He felt simultaneously hot and cold and spots flickered before his eyes.

"No," Gaius proclaimed emphatically, squeezing Arthur's arm in an effort to keep the young man calm and focused. "Morgause is related to Morgana through her mother, where _you_ are related to Morgana through her father. You and Morgause share no blood connection."

_Thank the Gods for small favors. _Arthur released a long slow breath he didn't realize he'd been holding._  
_

Arthur's face became grim. "So all that time Morgana was missing…she wasn't kidnapped." It was a statement, not a question.

"No," Gaius agreed firmly. "She was with Morgause, being trained as a High Priestess."

"And Merlin knew this." Arthur thought back to the so very many times in that year that his father had insisted upon continuing the search for Morgana, and how Merlin was usually less than enthused about going out on yet _another_ patrol. Not that Merlin didn't usually complain girlishly, but now Arthur realized this had been different. He'd known that Morgana was in no danger, and was certainly _not_ looking to be rescued.

Gaius shook his head. "We didn't know it for sure what had happened until after Morgana came back...but it seemed clear at the time that she would have preferred her sister's company over ours."

Arthur was sure there was a _lot_ more to this story, and he desperately wanted to hear it…but he didn't want to be selfish and keep Gaius from Merlin any longer. "I should let you get to Merlin. I'm sure he needs treatment."

Gaius nodded gratefully and stood. "Thank you, Sire."

Arthur stayed seated, staring at the table as he swirled his index finger against the wood grain as he assimilated all this new information. He frowned, thinking back to another time just a few months ago that Merlin had saved his life.

_The two of them were huddled behind a wall in an abandoned castle, hiding from the Dorocha in the deepest part of night. They had dropped their torch and they were defenseless; both of them terrified, shaking, but neither wanting to admit it. _

_"You know, you're a brave man, Merlin..." Arthur rolled his eyes and with a smile, finished, "...between battles."_

_Merlin huffed a laugh and leaned toward him as if to impart a great secret. "You don't know how many times I've saved your life."_

_Despite the desperate situation they were in, Arthur snickered. "If I ever become king, I'm going to make you Court Jester..."_

_They shared a smile and a laugh._

_And then moments later Merlin willingly jumped into a Dorocha's path to save him yet again._

It suddenly made Arthur wonder just how true Merlin's statement had been. Twice in a day, Arthur had discovered two separate occasions where Merlin had gone way above and beyond the call of duty to save his life. And one of those times his actions had saved all of Camelot! And he, Arthur, had known nothing of it. His prior memory was a third. And then there was the witch with the dagger...and the poisoned cup. How many _more_ times had Merlin risked his life to save his and he didn't even know it?

As Gaius stepped toward the closed door, Arthur felt his internal tension build. Some...instinct told him that he needed to speak. He didn't want to delay Gaius again, but the words just sprang free from his lips of their own volition surprising even him. "Something's not right, Gaius."

Gaius paused in his steps, and turned back to look at the king. "What do you mean?" he asked, his brows drawn together in confusion and concern.

"I'm not sure," Arthur admitted sheepishly. "It's something to do with Merlin."

"How so?" Gaius's voice held a strange edge to it now.

"I…can't put my finger on it." Arthur paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "When I last saw Merlin, he…well, he was barely conscious. I had to carry him. That was two days ago. Yet today, he was…better. Able to walk on his own. Able to mount a horse by himself. I don't understand it."

Playing devil's advocate as he so often did, Gaius suggested, "Perhaps he was not as injured as you believed, Sire?"

Arthur shook his head emphatically. Of this he was sure. "I saw the wound, Gaius. I tried to tend to it. It was deep, gory and infected. Frankly, I don't know how he survived it."

Gaius paled at Arthur's description.

"And in the clearing earlier…Merlin just wasn't himself. Not quite. Something just doesn't add up. I'm…" Arthur paused before admitting, "I'm worried about him."

Gaius's eyes softened at Arthur's admission. "I understand. Would you like me to report to you once I've had a chance to examine him? In private?" he added, thinking of Arthur's purposeful exclusion of Agravaine.

Relief flooded Arthur at the thought. Suddenly, he was deeply grateful that Gaius was so very insightful. "Yes. Thank you, Gaius."

Gaius nodded grimly and took his leave. After what Arthur had told him, suspicion was beginning to form in his mind. He could only _hope_ he was wrong.


	7. Snake Eyes

**No Better Assassin**

_A/N: Sorry in advance for the ridiculously long Author's Note you're about to read! _

_First: If you have not read the last chapter since I first posted it, then please go back and read it again before continuing onward because I reworked the last third of the chapter or so and added a few things. Thanks!_

_Second: I thought this might be a good time to clear up a few things that may or may not have been confusing some people about what exactly is happening to Merlin. As you all know (from the episode and this story), the Fomorroh takes over Merlin's mind and tries to force him to kill Arthur (in this story, Morgana has specified that Merlin must kill Arthur with magic.)._

_But, there has been a wrench in the works. Basically, the Magic of the Old Religion, while trying to re-establish the balance between good and evil that had been screwed up when Morgana forced the Fomorroh into Merlin, rescued a part of Merlin's soul from being controlled (or allowed Merlin to rescue himself, if you will) by the force of his good magic. This resulted in Merlin's soul effectively being split between the good and evil forces (Merlin vs. Fomorroh) but sharing the same physical body...and, more importantly, sharing the same magic. _

_Right now, the Fomorroh-controlled part of Merlin has control of their physical body and most of the magic as well. Our Merlin will have to fight to try and get back control of both, which is why he's been stealing pieces of magic._

_Third: Now that there are two of him, I will be labeling them as such in the story: "Fomorroh-Merlin" when it is his own thoughts or actions, or if, at some point, the observer knows he is the Fomorroh-controlled part of Merlin. If I use just "Merlin", then that is either the "good" Merlin (this should be obvious), or else the person who is dealing with him is not aware that he's the "bad" Merlin. If I happen to use just "Fomorroh", then that is actually the creature and not Merlin. Hopefully, this will not be confusing when you read it. If it is, please let me know._

_Fourth: In response to a not-as-kind-as-it-could-be unsigned review, I thought I would explain my theory as to why Merlin's magic became so weak in the instance of this story and not when Merlin was, say, dying of poison. I felt that because, unlike normal sorcerers, Merlin IS magic, it would work similarly in his case to his actual life-blood. So, when he was losing significant amounts of his life-blood, it would drain away his magic as well. This is in contrast to being poisoned, because he still retained all his life-blood; instead it was an impurity in his system that was killing him. (Plus, he was saving Arthur and not himself when he used his magic...all bets are *always* off in my mind when Arthur's involved)_

_That, and this story just wouldn't work the way I wanted it to if Merlin retained his full powers the whole time. (After all, Merlin is still human, and therefore must have some sort of Achilles heel, even if he **is** spectacularly amazing.)_

_Whew! Okay, now to normal stuff. Thanks a ton for all your great feedback! I really, really love it! It literally makes my day. :) And darn it, I SO had a place I wanted to end this chapter at (it was EVIL), but the chapter kept growing and growing until it would have been WAY too long a chapter. _

_Dragonrider2203 made a great point about how supposedly (according to Morgana's description of the effects of the Fomorroh anyway) Merlin would be so fixated on killing Arthur that he would have a hard time sleeping or eating. I hope that I have been able to capture the beginnings of these effects convincingly._

_So, while no great evil cliffie to attack you this time, I do hope you'll enjoy this little foray into the mind of our poor Fomorroh-controlled warlock._

_Please review! Thank you! :)_

* * *

Chapter 7: Snake Eyes

Merlin was exhausted. While he knew his body had rested almost the whole way back to Camelot, and he had tuned out to try to rest as well, he felt as if he hadn't slumbered at all. His nerves felt frazzled. He sensed the reason without knowing how he knew: while _he_ may have tried to relax and sleep, the rest of his soul that was controlled by the Fomorroh had not. He could almost hear the crazed and deluded thoughts going around and around in circles beside him, like a roommate who snored too loud.

_Having to share your body and mind with a Fomorroh is definitely no walk in the park_, Merlin thought with an internal sigh. The only good thing about the current situation was that his friends were currently bringing him to Gaius' chambers, which were completely on the other side of the castle from Arthur's. Furthermore, the knights were to stay with him until Gaius got there, and then _Gaius_ would watch over him, which meant his alter ego couldn't exactly go wandering off killing Arthur anytime soon.

This was as good a time as any to try and rest. Perhaps this time he would feel better when he awoke.

* * *

As Fomorroh-Merlin was half-strong-armed, half-carried further and further away from his target, his anger and desperation grew. The gossamer haze of pleasure that had settled over him while he was in Arthur Pendragon's presence was fading, leaving behind a gnawing ache of need and anxiety that made him want to claw at his own skin. Yet, his physical body was still weak and had no chance of removing himself from the clutches of four Knights of Camelot without using magic.

The Fomorroh considered forcing his host to use this course of action, but very unwillingly decided to wait. He didn't want to give away his host's secret prematurely, lest he ruin his chances to easily gain access to his mark. Besides, he still had that troublesome Merlin to contend with.

In the Fomorroh's ancient collective memory, it had never found anyone able to resist its power. So how was this scrawny weakling of a man was able to do what had heretofore been impossible?

Yet, Merlin's presence had been little more than a nuisance. The part of the man's soul that had separated itself was small and relatively powerless compared to the part it controlled. _Merlin may have survived_, the Fomorroh thought in smug certainty, _but the warlock could do little more than watch as his host body destroyed the King of Camelot with his own magic._

And that perhaps, the Fomorroh mused, would make this victory the sweetest of them all.

* * *

The door to Gaius' chamber swung open wide, slamming against the opposite wall as a very awkward cluster of four knights and a very unsteady-on-his-feet Merlin crossed the threshold.

"Where should we put him?" Elyan asked the others, slightly out of breath.

Leon moved around to close the door behind them.

Percival gestured with his chin toward Gaius' cot. "There," he breathed, starting to lurch in that direction.

Gwaine's voice stopped him cold. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?" Percival asked as his brows knit together, frowning.

"Don't know about you, but I don't fancy being on the receiving end of one of Gaius' infamous raised eyebrows. I don't think he'd appreciate his bed smelling like a swamp." Gwaine's grin spread infectiously to all the others in the room…except for Merlin.

"You all realize that I am _right here_, don't you?" Fomorroh-Merlin snapped, yanking his forearm out of Percival's loose grasp and plopping himself down into a chair at the table he and Gaius used for meals. He grimaced as his sore muscles complained of the sudden motion. "Perhaps you should ask me where _I_ want to be?"

All four knights stared at Merlin, nonplussed. Rarely had they ever heard Merlin sound this annoyed…and when they _had_, it had always been toward Arthur, not them.

"Sorry, Merlin," Elyan immediately apologized, his soft voice contrite as he placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "We were only trying to help."

Fomorroh-Merlin abruptly shrugged Elyan's hand away, spitting petulantly, "Well, you're not. I shouldn't be here. I should be with _my King_."

Leon shook his head in wonderment. Merlin's loyalty to Arthur was sometimes unnerving in its intensity, and this was one of those times. "Merlin, you've been injured. You were lost in the forest for _two days_. You can barely _stand_ on your own, let alone serve Arthur." Leon met Merlin's eyes and was startled to see how hard and cold they appeared…so _un-Merlin-like_.

_It must be the pain_, he reasoned before continuing, "Besides, Arthur has ordered you here so Gaius can take a look at you and treat your wounds, and we are to keep you company while you wait. So like it or not, you're stuck here with us for the time being."

Sullenly, Fomorroh-Merlin leaned his elbow on the table and propped his head up with his hand. "_Great_." Sarcasm practically dripped from the word.

Again, the four other men exchanged mystified looks. Percival's look to Elyan clearly asked, _What do you think is wrong with him?_ Elyan shrugged one shoulder in response. The two of them and Leon turned and they all stared at Gwaine. He got the telepathic message loud and clear: _You're the closest friend to him of all of us…__**you**__ talk to him._

With a raise of his eyebrows and a shake of his head, Gwaine thought, _Well, here goes nothing…_

While the other three knights made themselves scarce about the room, Gwaine guardedly pulled out the chair opposite Merlin and sat down. He tilted his head to the side to study the odd look on Merlin's face before asking, "Merlin, what's up with you, mate? You can tell your old pal Gwaine."

Fomorroh-Merlin wanted nothing more than for these troublesome knights to leave him alone. He had planning to do and he couldn't do that if they kept bothering him. "Nothing is _up_ with me," he huffed. "I simply want to get back to my duties as soon as possible."

Gwaine knew that Merlin took his responsibility to Arthur much more seriously than Arthur believed he did, but he knew that this time Merlin was asking the impossible of himself. "I don't think Arthur'll begrudge you a few days off to recuperate first. With all you do for him, I'm sure you've earned it."

"Look, I don't want a few days off; I'm fine! I just want you all to leave me alone and let me get back to work!" Merlin erupted as he literally sprung to his feet, swaying precariously as he suddenly got dangerously lightheaded. Gwaine reached out to steady his friend, but his hand froze mid-motion as he encountered Merlin's glare-of-death. Merlin steadied himself by gripping the table before turning around and pointing his finger in a sweeping motion to include the rest of the knights, "And Gaius will _not_ be thanking _you_ lot for getting into his stores and messing up his things!"

Before any of them had a chance to react or respond, an indignant voice reverberated throughout the room. "What is the meaning of this?" Gaius demanded, staring down each man in the room in turn until his eyes finally rested on Merlin.

"Merlin!" Gaius barked at him, "What was all of that shouting about?" Stalking toward the table, he pointed imperiously at Merlin's swaying person and then the chair behind him. "Sit down before you fall down!"

Fomorroh-Merlin seethed at being ordered around by the old man, but in order to keep himself from cursing Gaius and revealing his magic in front of all of them, he snapped his jaw shut audibly and dropped like a stone into the seat.

Next, Gaius turned his ire upon the knights. "And what did you do to upset my patient?"

Leon, as spokesman for the group, protested, "We didn't do anything, Gaius, we swear!" Elyan, Percival and Gwaine all nodded vigorously. "It's just that…Merlin took exception to not being able to return to his duties right away, even though we explained that it really wouldn't be possible."

Gaius frowned as he turned back toward Merlin. "Is this true?" he scolded. Merlin stubbornly refused to answer or even look at him, which he took as a sign that the knights' story _was_ the truth. "Well, you can forget about that. Arthur said you are not to return to your duties until you are fully healed."

Noticing that Merlin was about to protest, Gaius cut him off and spoke over him, "Which you aren't. Not until I say so."

Merlin had a mutinous look on his face but stayed silent and Gaius nodded once in satisfaction. "Now," he continued, looking at the knights, "Let's clear off that table over there," Gaius pointed at a table that had a few potions and elixirs on it, "and lay down a clean sheet. Percival, if you would be so kind as to go down to the well and fetch me a fresh pail of clean water I would appreciate it…Two if you can manage it. It looks like we have a lot of clean up to do."

"You can say _that_ again," Gwaine muttered with a snicker, pinching his nose as if to block out all smell and eyeing Merlin up and down cockily.

Merlin turned and looked Gwaine right in the eyes. His face was dark and menacing and held an expression the knight had never seen on Merlin before: hatred. Gwaine felt a shiver run up his back despite being the one armed with a sword. He took a step backward unconsciously, blinked twice and shook his head, knowing he must be seeing things…because for a split second, it almost looked like Merlin's blue eyes flickered with bright sparks of gold.

Everyone else in the room was oblivious to this tense moment that passed between the two men.

Percival nodded and grabbed the mostly empty water bucket by the stove as well as an empty one by the door. "Sure, Gaius." He smiled pleasantly. "No problem."

Meanwhile, Leon and Elyan made quick work of moving the supplies to Gaius' main workbench. Gaius pointed toward the broom cupboard where he stored extra linens to use during treatment of patients and the two men retrieved a sheet and neatly draped it over the tabletop.

Gaius glanced over to his right where Gwaine was standing, uncertainly leaning his weight back and forth from foot to foot. Assuming he was concerned for his friend, Gaius sought for something useful for the man to do. "Gwaine, perhaps you wouldn't mind helping Merlin get those boots and socks off? That way he won't have to bend over. He and I can take care of the rest, I think."

Gwaine startled as if from a reverie, took a minute to process what the physician had said to him and then nodded, casting a cautious eye in Merlin's direction. Then, shrugging, he ambled over to stand in front of Merlin, undid his sword belt, leaned the sheathed sword against the table leg and crouched down in front of the seated man.

As Gwaine's hands reached out toward the buckles on Merlin's right boot, he leaned forward and hissed, "Don't. Touch. Me!"

Gwaine looked up with widened eyes into Merlin's cold, harsh face, startled by the almost snakelike words.

But however quietly the words had been spoken; they had been overheard. "Merlin!" Gaius admonished his ward sternly. "How dare you? I don't care how upset or frustrated you are; you do not speak to people like that…_especially_ your friends. Apologize right now!"

A nerve twitched in Merlin's jaw and his eyelids closed over eyes that felt hot with the sting of magic. "Sorry," he bit out between clenched teeth.

"It's all right, Merlin," Gwaine said softly, his hands fumbling for a moment with the first shoe buckle before he was able to unlatch it. "I'm sure you must have been through a lot. I shouldn't have teased you earlier."

Fomorroh-Merlin took a deep breath and pushed the magic back down. "It's okay," he said, his voice almost totally devoid of feeling, "It's just been a very long day."

"So…" Gwaine tried to make small talk as he continued with his task, "The mercenaries had you, then?"

"I…don't know," Fomorroh-Merlin lied. "I don't remember anything at all that happened until this afternoon, not long before you and Arthur found me. I just…woke up in that bog."

"Oh." Gwaine slipped Merlin's right boot and sock off his friend's foot and put them aside. He was a bit disappointed. He'd hoped for a couple of anecdotes, or even a thrilling escape story. "So you don't know how you escaped either, huh?"

"No," Fomorroh-Merlin answered succinctly.

"Ah, well…" Gwaine said expansively as he started on Merlin's other boot. "Can't win them all, I guess. After all, it's not like you need thrilling stories of derring-do to impress the pretty barmaids, anyway."

Behind them, Leon snorted back laughter as he leaned backward against the table he and Elyan prepared. "Not to hear Arthur tell it. He's constantly complaining of Merlin being in the tavern."

"What?" Gwaine asked in astonishment as he gently tugged on and removed Merlin's other boot and sock and tucked it next to the first under the table. He pushed himself to a stand and brushed his hands together to remove the residual mud he'd accumulated from the grimy boot buckles. "Where'd Arthur get _that_ idea?" Gwaine grabbed his sword belt and reattached it.

Leon shrugged. "I don't know. But whenever he can't seem to find Merlin, that's where Arthur always says he is."

"Merlin's never in the tavern," Gwaine denied vehemently. "I would know; the Rising Sun is like my second home! The only time I _ever_ see him in there is when he's come to drag me back to my rooms. Isn't that right, Merlin?"

Fomorroh-Merlin, who had been thinking about which spells he wanted to practice that evening, startled at the sound of his name and stuttered, "Huh? Oh, yeah, right. Sorry."

"Well, if you're never in the tavern when Arthur thinks you are, Merlin," Elyan inquired curiously, "then where _are_ you?"

Gaius cast a worried look at Merlin and opened his mouth to intervene when Percival thankfully took that moment to reappear with two full water buckets. "Where would you like these, Gaius?"

"Right there next to the table, Percival. Thank you."

Percival placed his cargo down next to Leon and straightened up. "Now what? Would you like us to get Merlin up onto the table for you?"

Gaius shook his head, indicating his answer. "No. Actually, I'm going to have Merlin strip off and wash up before getting him up there." Merlin looked up at him sharply at that news. Realizing Merlin would probably be quite embarrassed about that, (not to mention that Merlin preferred to hide the vast amount of scars he'd accrued since moving to Camelot) he decided it was time to send the knights on their way. "I think he and I will manage that between us just fine. I thank you for your help, gentlemen."

With a collective shrug, the knights wished Merlin their best and began to file out the door. Leon, who was last in line, stuttered to a stop at Gaius's call, 'Oh, and Leon?"

Looking back at the physician, Leon answered politely, "Yes?"

Gaius smiled and inquired, "Would you mind terribly asking Lady Guinevere if she would stop by in about an hour or so?"

"Sure, Gaius. I'm sure she'd be happy to."

Gaius nodded once. "Thank you."

* * *

Once the door clicked shut behind Sir Leon, Gaius ambled over and gave Merlin's arm a light tug. "All right, up you get. Let's get you cleaned up and stitched up."

Fomorroh-Merlin stood as requested, his mind still whirring, pondering which spells would be best to practice and which ones he might master quickest. After all, the sooner he could effectively cast the magic, the sooner he could get his reward.

His shudder of remembered ecstasy happened to coincide with Gaius' tugging at Merlin's jacket in an attempt to remove the soggy item. "Merlin, are you all right?" Gaius peered carefully up into Merlin's face, trying to determine if he'd inadvertently caused his ward more pain.

"I'm fine," Fomorroh-Merlin replied hoarsely, clearing his throat to control the fierce longing in his belly. He dropped his shoulders loosely, allowing the old man to remove the ruined leather before moving his own hands to unbuckle and remove the slimy belt at his waist.

"Well, you'll be needing a new one of _those_," Gaius said with distaste, carrying the offending jacket by two fingers and laying it atop the hearth's woodpile for burning. Gaius walked back to stand beside Merlin and put his hand firmly on the young man's upper arm. "Okay, over to the table now. Do you think you can make it?"

Fomorroh-Merlin nodded, putting his effort into coordinating his movements while ignoring how lightheaded he felt. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the table bump lightly against the back of his thighs.

Gaius let go of Merlin's elbow and placed a towel on the table next to him. "All right, trousers off. You can cover up with that."

Fomorroh-Merlin unfastened his trouser button and the pants slid right off him, pooling at his ankles. Gaius saw this and tsked at him, asking, "Merlin, when was the last time you ate?"

Sitting on the table, Fomorroh-Merlin slid back so that the table edge caught in the crook of his knees, and then kicked his feet slightly to allow the dirty trousers to fall onto the floor. Following that, Fomorroh-Merlin answered readily, "This afternoon. After Arthur and Gwaine found me, they gave me some bread."

Grabbing the towel, Fomorroh-Merlin slid it up under the long hem of his dirty tunic and settled it across his lap.

"And before that?" Gaius demanded, worry creasing his already wrinkled forehead.

Fomorroh-Merlin shrugged. "Don't know," he mumbled.

Gaius looked down at the now-discarded trousers on the floor and frowned. "_Too_ long, I'd wager. Your trousers shouldn't just fall off you like that."

When Merlin didn't answer, Gaius sighed wearily, but prompted him, "Now the shirt. Here, let me help you." He stepped forward to lend his assistance, remembering what Arthur had told him about the severity of Merlin's chest wound. But Merlin shocked his mentor by simply reaching down with both hands and nimbly pulling the fabric up and over his head to expose his scar-pocked chest. While the expanse of skin displayed a positively unhealthy amount of healed wounds of all shapes and sizes, it was definitely missing one thing: a gaping, ugly, infected mace wound.

* * *

_A/N: And why yes, I **did** just leave Merlin sitting on that table clothed in nothing but a towel. Maybe that could be considered an evil cliffie after all?_ ;)


	8. Suspicious Minds

**No Better Assassin**

_A/N: Sorry this update took so long. Trying to find time to write this week was frustrating at best and I struggled with a little bit of writer's block. _

_I still find it amazing when I sit down to write, the story (of which I have a general outline of in my head) starts to take on a life of its own. I had hoped to reach that next point that I alluded to in the last chapter. Nope, still didn't get there, because there was way too much stuff that had to happen first (or so my muse tells me!)._

_For example, the ending scene of this chapter came out of nowhere. I hadn't really planned for that to happen when I came up with the story idea, but there it was on the page. Hmmm. Hope you like it anyway. :)_

_As always, I love hearing from you; what you like, what you think I could improve. Thanks again for all your wonderful support. Now that my thoughts are flowing I am keeping my fingers crossed for a much quicker update next chapter. _

* * *

Chapter 8: Suspicious Minds

Gaius shook his head as if he could not believe what he was seeing. "Merlin…" he breathed in awe.

As Fomorroh-Merlin extricated his lanky arms from the sleeves of his mud-caked tunic, he dropped the filthy shirt onto the floor. When he turned his head back toward Gaius, he discovered the man staring at him. "What?" he demanded defensively.

"What happened to your wound? Arthur said you took a mace to the chest!" Gaius' voice held all the incredulity displayed on his face.

Fomorroh-Merlin pursed his lips in impatient annoyance. _Certainly this was not an interesting topic? He had magic to practice, assassinations to plan…_

Fomorroh-Merlin looked down at the offending piece of flesh and sighed. "Oh. That."

"Yes, Merlin…that," Gaius confirmed, dunking a small cloth into the closest water bucket. Carefully, he started washing the area between Merlin's shoulder blade and his heart, looking for any sign of the injury. "Arthur said it was quite bad…surely you didn't try to heal it yourself?" he asked skeptically.

After all, for all of Merlin's legendary power, Gaius knew that his ward was still absolute _rubbish_ at casting healing spells.

A flutter of panic threaded through Fomorroh-Merlin's blood as his eyes searched the physician's face. Surely the old man did not know about his magic…_did he_? "No…of course not!" he scoffed.

Having removed the last of the dirt and blood from the area of the former wound, Gaius leaned in closer to inspect it. Not only was there no wound at all, there weren't even any new scars.

"Merlin," Gaius squinted up at his ward and tipped his head appraisingly. "What _really_ happened out there in the forest?"

"What do you mean? I already told you," Fomorroh-Merlin answered warily.

Gaius raised a skeptical eyebrow. "No, you told _Gwaine_ what happened. But we both know that sometimes not _all_ the truth can be told in front of him or the other knights…" he prompted.

"Gaius, that _is_ what happened," Fomorroh-Merlin insisted.

"You don't remember _anything_? Nothing at all?" Gaius repeated dubiously.

Fomorroh-Merlin shook his head.

"Well," Gaius said, placing the rag into the water bucket, "It's obvious that _someone_ healed your wound. And from what Arthur told me, it sounds as if your injury could have been fatal, Merlin. Not just anyone could have healed that. And seeing that it didn't even leave a scar, that person would have had to have _considerable_ skill in the healing arts."

Fomorroh-Merlin shrugged, starting to get annoyed. "Why are you making such a big deal about this? I don't know who did it or why, and I don't care! I just want to get back to my duties as soon as possible."

Gaius stared at Merlin, nonplussed. _Arthur's right_, he thought suddenly, _there's something not right about him_. Because Gaius knew there was no way that _his_ Merlin would not _immediately_ see the innate problem with being healed so suddenly and fully: It would attract unwanted attention and unanswerable questions; never a good thing when you were a secret warlock in Camelot.

That sinking feeling he'd had when leaving Arthur's chambers returned to Gaius in the form of a tight feeling in his stomach. With a sense of dread, Gaius leveled a stern look at Merlin, closely watching his reaction as he asked, "Merlin, does this have anything to do with Morgana?"

At the mention of his mistress' name, a shock of pleasure flowed through Fomorroh-Merlin. As hard as he tried, he could not school his facial features enough to fool Gaius: his eyes glinted feverishly for a moment and he let out a tiny, almost inaudible gasp as the high engulfed him. It took him just a millisecond too long to find his voice. "No. Why would it? We were attacked by mercenaries, remember?"

"Ah, yes," Gaius agreed, not wanting to let Merlin know he'd found him out, "Of course. I'd forgotten." _Damn, if Morgana's involved... _Gaius shuddered to think what that might mean.

"Look, Gaius…are we done here?" Fomorroh-Merlin huffed, his patience wearing thin. "Because personally, I'd like to get dressed."

Gaius hefted the water pail he'd been using onto the table beside Merlin. "Why don't you finish washing up while I fetch you some clean clothes? Then perhaps we can rustle you up something to eat."

Fomorroh-Merlin reached into the pail and retrieved the cleaning cloth, wrung it out and started scrubbing down the rest of his chest.

Gaius was halfway up the stairs to Merlin's room when he heard Merlin's reply. "I'm not hungry," he protested. "Besides, I need to get Arthur _his_ dinner."

Turning back around, Gaius told Merlin forcefully, "No. No working tonight, Merlin. You may think you're fine, but I'm not convinced. I want to see you eat a full meal and have a good night's rest, and we can discuss it again in the morning."

"But…"

Gaius cut off Merlin's protest before it could start. "No. That's enough now. No more arguments."

As he finished walking up the stairs and entered Merlin's room, Fomorroh-Merlin huffed and threw the rag into the wash bucket in a fit of pique, which only served to splash him with the tepid water, frustrating him even further.

* * *

By the time Gaius had scrounged up a complete outfit for Merlin from his very untidy room, his ward had finished washing and, judging by the way his arms were folded across his front and his bare foot tapped against the floor, was waiting rather impatiently for him. "What took you so long?" Merlin snapped as he snatched a pair of woolen socks from the top of the clothes pile Gaius was carrying.

Affronted, Gaius retorted, "Well, if you kept your room neater, I wouldn't have had to search for everything, now would I?" He dropped the pile of clothes unceremoniously onto the table next to Merlin.

Fomorroh-Merlin wordlessly slid on his socks and then grabbed the brown trousers, not even looking in Gaius' direction.

Gaius walked toward the hearth, frowning. Merlin's attitude was disturbing, especially in light of the fact that he didn't remember where he'd been for the last two days. And his reaction when he'd mentioned Morgana… Gaius shuddered.

Gaius peeked over his shoulder at his ward again…and was astounded to find that he was just pulling his trousers into position and trying to fasten the button right out in the open room. Granted, his back was to Gaius, but it was still extremely out of character for Merlin. Usually, the young man was bashful to a fault and would never risk anyone seeing him, for people were constantly coming in and out of the physician's chambers.

Like now, for instance. Gaius looked up as the door creaked open and his eyes met the soft, warm dark brown gaze of Gwen's. In both hands, she was carrying a large, steaming tureen by cloth-covered handles. The guard who had accompanied her as far as the door reached over and shut it behind her with a _snick_.

"Gaius, I brought you and Merlin some soup from the kitchens. I thought you both might be hungry," she said with a sweet, kind smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Thus far, Gwen had not noticed Merlin changing on the other side of the room, and Gaius hoped he could keep it that way; at least until Merlin was decent. "That's very kind of you." Hastily, he pushed things around on the kitchen table to make room for the soup pot. "Here, Gwen, why don't you set that down?"

Gwen had just set down the pot when a movement from the corner of her eye captured her attention. She looked up…and was shocked to find Merlin standing next to Gaius' examination table shirtless.

"Merlin!" she gasped in surprise, as much from witnessing him standing under his own power as the fact that he was currently only half-dressed.

Fomorroh-Merlin, who had been occupied with shaking out the wrinkles from a deep blue tunic, turned around at the sound of his name. "Oh. Hi, Gwen," he said nonchalantly, as if it were nothing at all to him that he was presently exposing more skin in front of a woman than he ever had before in his life, save his own mother. He slid his arms up into the sleeves of the shirt and nimbly brought his arms up to stick his head in through the opening, inadvertently exposing his chest to Gwen in the process.

Although Gwen's cheeks flamed scarlet, she found she could not look away. The way Merlin's clothes usually hung off him, she had naturally assumed he was rather skinny, perhaps even a bit scrawny. Clearly that was not the case. Yes, Merlin was lean where the knights were more broad-chested and well-muscled, but his torso was still well-defined and as he moved, it was with a peculiar kind of grace and litheness, the likes of which even Arthur could not boast.

But what really arrested her eyes were the scars! Merlin was _covered_ in them: everything from tiny scratches and small scrapes to huge, jagged gashes. But all of those wounds paled in comparison to the huge burn mark located in the center of his chest. It was at least 3 inches wide and almost perfectly round. Gwen had never seen anything like it before and could not even _imagine_ what kind of injury would cause such a wound.

Gwen felt her mouth hanging open and snapped it shut with an almost audible click, lowering her eyes to the table just before Merlin could notice her preoccupation.

* * *

Gaius, however, _had_ noticed…and was terrified for his ward. Already this day, Arthur had learned a fair few of Merlin's secrets, with possibly another revelation on the way in the fact that Merlin was actually _never_ in the tavern when Arthur thought he was. Gaius didn't know how Merlin was going to get out of _that_ one.

And now Guinevere had seen Merlin's scars. If she told Arthur what she'd seen, he would demand to know what had happened to Merlin…and Gaius didn't know if there would be any way to avoid the topic of magic if that happened. And for all his faith in Arthur and whom he would one day become, Gaius just didn't know if the Arthur he was today was ready for the revelation that his best friend was a warlock.

* * *

Arthur lowered himself wearily into a chair in front of the hearth in his room and stared at the flames for what seemed like forever. He was a man with a lot on his mind. There was a traitor among them. He felt it in his gut. Someone had betrayed their travel route to the mercenaries that attacked them. He needed to find out whom.

_Damn_…he thought with a long sigh. This was one of those moments that he _really_ wished he had Merlin there with him. Merlin had a way of helping Arthur organize his thoughts and separate the wheat from the chaff that no one else did. For an idiot, Merlin possessed an uncommon amount of common sense.

Precious few people even knew about the treaty, less had known of the route they would take. Only the knights Arthur took with him and his uncle had known…. which meant one of them had to be the traitor.

Arthur's heart hurt to think that any one of them could have done this…but then, he'd been fooled before, as evidenced by Morgana.

Arthur reached over to the small table beside him and grabbed a few grapes, popping them into his mouth absentmindedly. At his request, George had set his dinner tray there rather than at the table, but even though roasted venison was one of his favorites, he'd hardly even picked at it. His mind was going round in too many circles to eat.

George. He'd tsked at him the moment Arthur had walked into his chambers and he saw the amount of mud and filth sticking to his liege's person. Before Arthur could even ask, George had already selected a new set of clothing for him, poured clean washing water, and removed all of Arthur's offending armor to clean in the armory. He supposed it had been completed ages ago, as Arthur had also had to meet with the Council, but the man had had dinner ready and waiting for him when he got back to his chambers…and the food had still been hot.

George really was an exemplary servant, Arthur thought, but, as Merlin would have said, he was a _bootlicker_…and bootlickers drove Arthur crazy. As soon as George had set down his dinner, stoked up the fire and turned down his bed, Arthur had released him from further duties for the night, breathing a sigh of relief as he went.

It was amazing how having Merlin around had ruined him for all other servants, he thought with a wry smile.

A light rapping at his chamber door drew Arthur's attention. In response, he pushed himself out of the slouch he'd been in. _Kings should not be seen __**slouching**_… Arthur could almost _hear_ his father's voice in his head as he'd heard that particular admonishment from him so many times.

Before Arthur's mind could start on the new topic of his father, he called out, "Come!"

Arthur was more than a little surprised to find not Gaius but Gwaine. Gwaine bowed his head slightly in the traditional sign of respect, but his words belied the solemnity of the motion, "Heya, Princess…"

Arthur rolled his eyes and shook his head with a rueful smile. "Gwaine, are you _ever_ going to stop calling me that? I am the _king_ now, you know."

With a cheeky grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, Gwaine replied, "Never. Keeps you humble. You have far too many people kissing your arse as it is."

Despite himself, Arthur let a bark of surprised laughter escape. He motioned toward the chair opposite his. "Would you like to sit? You look like something is troubling you."

Gwaine nodded, lowering himself into the proffered seat. "It's Merlin."

"What about him?" A sliver of the worry and fear that Arthur had been doing his best to hide had slipped into his voice. "What did Gaius say?"

Gwaine leaned forward toward Arthur, his elbows on his knees. His eyes focused on the stone beneath his feet rather than Arthur's eyes. "Gaius had just gotten there when we left, so I'm not sure how he is physically. What's bothering me is… Well, there's something…not right about him."

Arthur sucked in a small breath through his teeth at hearing his gut feeling confirmed by someone else. "How so?"

Gwaine rubbed his palms together absentmindedly. "He's just not acting like himself. Once we got Merlin back to Gaius' chambers, he was so…abrupt and rude to us."

Arthur frowned at this description. _Abrupt and rude?_ That didn't sound like Merlin at all. Immediately his mind jumped on the only explanation that made sense. "He's been injured, Gwaine. It was probably the pain making him act so."

Gwaine shook his head emphatically. "No. If Merlin—_our Merlin_—had ever snapped at us like he did tonight, he would have immediately apologized and he would have felt terrible about it. He's just _like that_. But _this_ Merlin…" Gwaine looked up and met Arthur's gaze. There was pain in the knight's face that he'd never witnessed on Gwaine before. "There was a moment back there—no one else saw it—when he looked at me with complete and utter hatred. He's my best friend, Arthur…and he _loathed_ me. I've never known Merlin to hate _anyone, _let alone a friend. And his eyes were…hard and cold, the likes of which I've never seen on him before. It was like it wasn't even him."

Arthur's blood ran cold at the thought. _Not really Merlin_… "Do you think…it really might not be him, then?" _Was it possible?_ As much as he wished otherwise, Arthur could not afford to discount it. With Morgana out there somewhere, things like that were _always_ possible.

Fresh pain blossomed in Arthur's chest and his throat constricted. Would he really have to mourn his best friend _twice_? Arthur didn't know if he could bear it. He choked out, "You think this is really someone _impersonating_ Merlin?"

Gwaine let out a long and painful sigh. "I don't know, Arthur. I just don't know."

* * *

By the time Gwen was able to compose her features enough to raise her eyes to meet Merlin's, he had completed attaching his belt around his waist. Softly, she motioned to him with her hand. "Why don't you sit down here, Merlin, and I'll pour you out some soup."

"I'm not hungry," was his immediate response, his eyes meeting Gaius' stubbornly over Gwen's shoulder.

"What did we talk about earlier, Merlin? You _need_ to eat," Gaius admonished sternly, motioning to Merlin's seat at the table again.

Fomorroh-Merlin rolled his eyes impatiently, but semi-obediently trudged forward and plopped himself into his chair at the table.

"Good," Gwen encouraged, removing the tureen cover and spooning a few scoops of the mouthwatering soup into the bowl in front of her friend.

Fomorroh-Merlin tossed one more disgruntled look in Gaius' direction, but he did scoop up a spoonful of soup, place it dutifully in his mouth and swallow. Almost immediately, his stomach roiled and he had to place a fist over his mouth to tamp down the sudden wave of nausea.

Gwen's face scrunched up in sympathy as Gaius stepped forward, placing his hand on the middle of his ward's back to rub in a soothing circle. "It's all right, Merlin. Slowly as it goes, now. You can do it."

His eyes scrunched closed in concentration, Fomorroh-Merlin nodded. After a moment, the queasiness subsided. More carefully this time, he sipped at his newly-filled spoon, eventually downing the thick liquid.

Fomorroh-Merlin met Gwen's worried eyes and knew what he needed to say to not rouse her suspicions. "Thank you, Gwen. It's good."

Gwen heaved a sigh of relief and smiled. "You're more than welcome, Merlin."

Seeing Gwen's presence as an opportunity, Gaius placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Would you mind terribly keeping Merlin company for a little while, Gwen? I have a few rounds to make before bed tonight and I'd feel better if he weren't alone."

Gwen nodded happily. "Of course not. I'd be happy to spend some time with Merlin."

Fomorroh-Merlin looked up from another spoonful of soup, annoyance bubbling up to the surface again. "I _don't_ need a babysitter, Gaius."

Gaius quirked a dubious eyebrow at him. "Really? After your outburst earlier, you could have fooled me." He resolutely turned his back on his stubborn ward and addressed Gwen again. "Make no mistake, Guinevere…Merlin has been placed on bed rest—"

"Under house arrest is more like it…" Fomorroh-Merlin interrupted grumpily. As much as he hated this, he knew that he would still get what he wanted (to be alone to practice his magic) faster by playing along.

This comment earned a roll of the eyes, which Gaius directed in Gwen's direction, making her laugh. "_Bed rest_," he corrected firmly. "Once he is finished with dinner, he is to go _straight to bed_."

Gaius could feel the heat of Merlin's glare on his back. He chose to ignore it. "He is not allowed out of this room…" He raised his voice so that Merlin would know he was directing this comment at him, "…_even_ if he tells you he needs to relieve himself."

Fomorroh-Merlin actually blushed and tucked his head down further, as if intensely studying his soup bowl…confirming he'd actually had this plan in mind. Gaius' knowing smirk met Gwen's amused smile, before he nodded with his head to the corner of the room. "We have a chamber pot for that."

"Are you done humiliating me yet, Gaius?" Fomorroh-Merlin mumbled, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"For now," Gaius confirmed, taking up his physican's satchel. To Gwen, he continued, "I shouldn't be gone too long, but if you need anything, just let one of the guards outside the room know."

Gwen nodded and turned toward her friend with a soft smile. Gaius quietly opened the door, stepped through the opening and then shut the door behind him.

And Merlin, knowing this parting comment had also been for his benefit, threw his hands up in the air in frustration and rolled his eyes skyward.

* * *

Arthur and Gwaine sat in silence for a few moments, eyes cast toward the fire, each reviewing their own personal memories of Merlin and wondering if the person they had in their midst could actually be one and the same.

"Gwaine," Arthur murmured at last, his eyes never leaving the flickering flames, "I believe what you said about Merlin acting strangely, but…for reasons I cannot explain, I still think it's him: Merlin, I mean. I just feel that I would have _known_ somehow if he weren't."

Looking up, Arthur realized that Gwaine was looking at him strangely and immediately began to backtrack. "I mean, I've known Merlin a _long time_…and I think that I would probably _notice_ if he…well, if he were somebody _different_…" Arthur trailed off lamely as he saw Gwaine holding back a guffaw with increasing difficulty the longer he spoke.

Something between a chuckle and a snort finally issued from Gwaine's throat as he leaned forward and slapped Arthur on the back. "Maybe you should quit while you're ahead, Princess, because it seems to me that you are _not_ the most observant individual."

Arthur leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest defiantly. "Now, what is _that_ supposed to mean? I'm observant!"

A mischievous smirk highlighted the playful glint in Gwaine's eye as he taunted, "Oh yeah…you're so observant that you've never realized that all those times Merlin was supposedly in the tavern, he was never actually _in the tavern_?"

Arthur sputtered indignantly, "What are you talking about? _Of course_, Merlin was in the tavern! Gaius said so!"

Gwaine gave his king a knowing look. "Did you ever actually go and _look_ for him at the tavern, Arthur?"

Despite himself, self-doubt began to creep into his tone. "No," he answered insolently, "Why would I do that?"

"So…" Gwaine answered, an amused smile playing at his lips, "you don't actually _know_ if he was there or not, then."

"No, but…"

"Well unlike you, _I_ am in The Rising Sun just about every night after training," Gwaine admitted, causing Arthur's eyebrows to rise so much they almost completely disappeared under his blond bangs. "Oh, don't look so surprised," Gwaine muttered mildly, "you should have seen _that_ one coming a mile away…"

Arthur let out a long-suffering sigh at this.

"Anyway, I can tell you for a fact that the only time I've ever seen Merlin in the tavern since I came to town was the few times I dragged him there myself for company. And the idea that he'd spend entire _days_ there drinking is completely absurd! Trust me when I tell you that the man can't hold his liquor at all. The last time I got him to go with me, he _fell asleep_ at the table before he'd even finished his second tankard of mead. I swear that Merlin could get high off a barmaid's _apron_ if he got too close!"

Arthur rubbed his hand against his temple, trying to ward off the sudden headache building behind his eyes. "But Gaius said…" he began hesitantly, not wanting to believe what he was hearing; yet knowing it was the truth.

Gwaine leaned his forearms against his knees again, sobering. Earnestly, he asked, "Do you really think that Gaius wouldn't lie in a heartbeat if it was to protect Merlin?"

"_Protect_ him? But, why would he need to protect Merlin from _me_?" Confusion and pain filled Arthur's mind and voice.

"I don't know, Arthur," Gwaine shrugged nonchalantly, "Perhaps you should ask him."

It was at this fortuitous moment that a rap on Arthur's door interrupted them. Gwaine and Arthur shared a knowing look, both guessing whom the owner of that knock probably was.

"Come," Arthur called, and he was not disappointed. It was indeed Gaius.

"Sire," the elderly man said respectfully, his head bowing in deference.

"Ah, Gaius. It's good of you to come." Arthur took a deep steadying breath and released it slowly. He needed answers and the physician was just the man to give them.

Turning to Gwaine, Arthur requested calmly, "Gwaine, if you don't mind?" He looked meaningfully toward the door.

Gwaine got the hint and immediately stood, proffering the chair to Gaius instead. "Of course. Sire," he bowed slightly in Arthur's direction, "Gaius," and he repeated the gesture before turning and letting himself out of Arthur's room.

As the door clicked shut behind the knight, Arthur met the physician's gaze. He waved a hand in the direction of the vacant seat beside him. "Please have a seat."

Gaius back stiffened as he registered the iron will he heard behind the benign request. He had a sinking feeling this was not going to be a pleasant conversation.

* * *

Gwaine looked back at Arthur's chamber door for a long moment before nodding at the two guards stationed a discrete distance away down the hallway and walking away. He did not envy Gaius at this moment, because he knew that Arthur was more upset than he'd let on about the thought that Merlin (and by extension, Gaius) might be hiding something from him.

As much as Arthur never admitted it aloud, all his closest knights knew that he and Merlin shared a close bond. So close, in fact, that it sometimes made Gwaine jealous of the young king.

Merlin was a good friend to Gwaine, certainly, and had been from their first meeting. He'd accepted Gwaine as he was then (with all his faults) and had willingly kept the secret of his noble heritage from everyone. During their trip to the Perilous Lands, Gwaine had offered Merlin his help immediately and unflinchingly. At the time, Merlin had told him he would have done the same for him, and Gwaine actually believed him. He had no doubts at all that if he'd ever been in the position to need Merlin's help, Merlin would have been there for him come hell or high water. That was just the kind of noble and brave man he was.

Yet, for all of that, he knew that what Merlin and Arthur shared was different. Oh, they complained and fought and bickered like little girls half the time, but when push came to shove, there was nothing one would not do for the other.

As unlikely a pair as they were—king and servant—they were practically inseparable, joined at the hip. Wherever one went, the other was. As much as Arthur complained about Merlin prattling on and being an idiot, there was no one's counsel he valued more.

And Merlin may be absolutely rubbish with a sword, but it was amazing how many times he'd still managed to save Arthur's life.

Gwaine shook his head as he thought about when Merlin had jumped in front of that Dorocha for Arthur. Gaius had told them that no one survived the Dorocha's touch…yet Merlin had. How had he been able to survive the unsurvivable? It didn't make sense…

Gwaine came to a dead stop in the middle of the corridor. _Or maybe it did!_

He thought back to that moment earlier this evening that he'd thought must have been a trick of the light: when Merlin's eyes had glowed. An unnatural _golden_ glow.

And then suddenly Gwaine knew; he _knew_ what it was that Merlin could not tell Arthur and what Gaius would so willingly hide.

It explained _so much_ about his enigmatic friend, Gwaine realized: How Merlin had known about the magical but deadly bracelet of Morgana's. How he could ride into battle time and again on missions, on quests…how he faced a bloody _dragon_ and returned unscathed without a shred of armor or even a weapon. How Arthur and the knights seemed to have uncanny luck whenever they were in battle or ambushed: tree branches falling onto attackers out of nowhere, seasoned warriors tripping over tree roots, or weapons' paths going awry…but only when Merlin was with them. How, no matter how close Gwaine had grown to Merlin over the years, he'd always felt that there was something missing; that Merlin held something back from him, from _all_ of them. And now he knew what that something was:

_Merlin had magic_.


	9. Eyes Wide Open

**No Better Assassin**

A/N: _Sorry for the very long delay in updating this story. Real Life has been rather brutal to me since the kids started back to school; finding time to write has been negligible and when I've had the time, I've been struggling with horrible writer's block. It's like I know where I am going with this story, but having a hard time getting there. I desperately want to get to the meaty action part of the story, but all this set up and back story needs to be set in place first, which has been kicking my butt._

_This chapter finds yet another plot twist that I wasn't necessarily planning on but just ended up on the page. It actually will end up working well later on, but, boy was I surprised!_

_As I'm typing this, I am just hoping this chapter isn't completely awful. I had **so** much trouble getting it out and written down! Your comments and reviews really get me hyped up so I would really appreciate hearing what you think. Thanks so much for reading!_

* * *

Chapter 9: Eyes Wide Open 

Arthur stared at Gaius and recognized the resigned expression and tense set of his shoulders. He knew without being told that their conversation would encompass more than one topic this evening. _Astute as ever, aren't you, Gaius?_

In the face of such a difficult discussion, Arthur, as was his habit, found himself tongue-tied and apprehensive…more of an unsure and lonely young man than a mighty king. Conflicting thoughts and emotions careened around in his brain: pain, confusion, anger, fear—and yes, even betrayal—all wanting to be released simultaneously, but the words kept getting stuck in his throat.

Yet, when Arthur found he could finally speak, it was none of those emotions that surfaced; love and concern for the man he secretly considered as almost a brother to him had won out over them all.

The words, barely a whisper, emerged. "How is he, Gaius? Will he live?"

Despite the tense atmosphere of the room, Gaius leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Yes, Arthur. Merlin will be all right."

Arthur released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and sagged against the back of his chair for a moment. He stared at the ceiling, a tremulous smile touching his lips as he blinked back tears he refused to acknowledge. _Merlin was back…and he was going to be okay. He hadn't lost his best friend after all…_

"I thought we'd lost him, Gaius." Arthur's voice was hoarse and broken. "Really, I did."

"So did I." Gaius paused as he swallowed the lump of emotion that had formed in his throat. "Thank you for bringing him home."

"Don't thank me," Arthur said immediately, lifting his head to meet the physician's eyes. "It was my fault he was missing in the first place."

"No, it was not," Gaius affirmed sternly. "And when he's better, I'm sure Merlin will tell you that himself."

Arthur actually rolled his eyes at this. "Of _course_ he would, Gaius…because that's just the kind of _idiot_ he is. Doesn't make it true, though."

But Gaius had heard Arthur's story about the sudden rockslide and had shrewdly determined that it was not a coincidence. It was _just_ the sort of selfless thing Merlin would do to save his friend. "You did all you could. Please stop blaming yourself."

Arthur let out a long sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "How bad was his wound? I can imagine it was not a pretty sight after all that mud."

It was Gaius' turn to let out a sigh. "Sire…I need to talk to you about that."

Something in Gaius' tone alerted Arthur that it was very serious. "That bad, huh?"

Surprisingly, Gaius shook his head. "No…quite the opposite, in fact. What I found was not at all what you described." Gaius' eyes bored into Arthur with an intensity that would make most other men quail at the sight of it. "You told me it was dark when you found it infected; perhaps it was simply…a trick of the light?"

Arthur denied vehemently, "I know what I saw, Gaius. It was no trick of the light."

Gaius frowned thoughtfully. "You're sure…_absolutely_ sure, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded his head definitively. "Yes, I'm _quite_ certain. I saw him get hit squarely in the chest and collapse. I had ample opportunity to inspect the damage in detail earlier in the day when we were hidden in that crevasse. It was as brutal a mace wound as I've ever seen on a live person. He must have been in excruciating pain." A dark shadow flitted across the king's features at the thought of the pain and suffering Merlin must have endured that day…and had done it virtually silently. _As brave as any knight of Camelot._

Gaius' expression turned grim. "Then there's nothing else for it." He fastened his eyes on Arthur's. "Merlin's been healed, Sire."

"_Healed_?" Gaius' announcement took Arthur completely by surprise.

Gaius bowed his head in deference as he admitted, "Yes, and it can only be the work of magic."

"_Magic…_" Arthur breathed, a bad feeling settling in the pit of his stomach at the word. "Are you sure, Gaius?"

Gaius nodded gravely. "Yes, Sire. And it would have been very powerful magic. His wound is completely gone…there's not even a _scar_."

Arthur looked nonplussed. "But who would do such a thing? The Druids?"

Gaius rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That is one possibility."

"What did Merlin have to say about it?" Arthur wondered aloud.

"Not much. He claims he doesn't remember anything from the time you were separated until just before you found him," Gaius answered with a skeptical quirk of his brow.

"But you don't think so," Arthur concluded by the look on the physician's face.

"I'm afraid not, Sire."

Arthur leaned forward and rested his elbows against his knees, rubbing his hands together restlessly. He stared off into the fire, not really seeing it. He did not like the implications of what he was thinking. "Just before he left, Gwaine mentioned that he thought Merlin was not acting like himself. I hadn't told him anything of my own doubts. Gaius, you probably know him best of any of us…do _you_ think Merlin is acting strange?"

Gaius thought back to Merlin's temper tantrum he'd walked in on, his impatience at being made to wait while Gaius searched for his clothes, his lack of concern over the use of magic on his wound, the lack of his usual bashfulness, his unusual insistence on being allowed back to work immediately. And then there was the near-euphoric response Merlin had to the mention of Morgana's name…None of it meshed with his ward's personality.

"Yes, Arthur; I do. He definitely does not seem like his normal self."

Another crease of worry blossomed on Arthur's forehead. Several moments passed in apprehensive silence before he frowned, asking, "Do you think that he could be an impostor, then?"

Gaius' eyes snapped to Arthur's face, shocked at this conclusion.

Arthur made eye contact with the old man, his face grim. "You know it's possible, Gaius. Sorcerers have done it before."

Gaius mulled over the possibility before ultimately rejecting it. "Merlin may be acting strangely, Sire, but I do not believe he is anyone else. You forget that I've just given him a thorough physical examination. I sincerely doubt that anyone trying to impersonate him would have taken the time to be thorough enough to reproduce every single birthmark and scar." _Besides_, he thought privately, _if the man were not Merlin, his magical aura would feel different. He'd recognize Merlin's magic anywhere._

Arthur tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but was not entirely successful. "Well then, if he's not an impostor, what _can_ we attribute the change in his behavior to?"

"I can't say for sure," Gaius hedged.

"But you have a theory," Arthur finished for him, giving him an expectant look.

"Yes," the physician admitted, studying his hands in his lap.

"Which is?" Arthur demanded.

Gaius lifted his head slowly, his expression grave. "I think we have to entertain the possibility that Merlin may be enchanted."

* * *

Merlin came back to awareness gradually, pleased to find that he felt much more refreshed this time. Studying his adversary carefully, he felt a grim sort of satisfaction to discover the deep bags of dark color under his eyes and a weary sag to his shoulders.

As Merlin began another round of steal-the-magic, he simultaneously pushed out with his mind to access his senses and happily found the process easier than it was before.

* * *

Gwen pulled out the stool and sat at the table opposite Merlin. His eyes met hers for a second before lowering back to his soup bowl. Earnestly she said, "Now Merlin, you know Gaius only wants what's best for you."

_Oh, Gwen…so good to see you again, my friend_, Merlin thought fondly as he surveyed his surroundings.

_Well, I see a good amount of time has passed_. _The last I knew the knights were bringing me up to Gaius' chambers._ He was no longer cold and wet, nor did he stink like rotten fish, so he realized that Gaius must have come, cleaned and patched him up, and gone on his evening rounds. _Which explains why Gwen is here…Gaius would never have left me alone._

"If you say so."

Merlin snickered to himself to hear his counterpart's disgruntled tone of voice. He could only imagine what kind of restrictions Gaius would have placed on him—_them_.

Gwen shook her head with a fond smirk. "I _do_ say so." She reached across the table to lay a comforting hand atop his. "We were all so worried about you. I'm so happy to have you home safe and sound."

"I'm glad to be home." It was no lie. Fomorroh-Merlin was happy to be already so close to accomplishing his goal.

_I'll just __**bet**__ you are_, Merlin thought sarcastically.

"What happened to you after the rock fall? Were you captured?" she asked tentatively.

Fomorroh-Merlin shrugged, going with his established story. "I don't know. I passed out after that and don't remember anything else until just before Arthur found me."

_So, that's the story I'm telling people. Well, that's certainly convenient. It's a wonder no one has seen through that one, yet._

Gwen looked down at her lap, a blush staining her cheeks again. Unconsciously, she tightened her grip on Merlin's hand. "I thought Arthur said you were injured…" she whispered, mortified she was asking, but she just could not help herself.

_Oh, no…_ Merlin was instantly worried. _Why is Gwen blushing? This can't be good…_

"I was," Fomorroh-Merlin immediately agreed, staring at Gwen's hand holding his and then at her appraisingly.

_No! Whatever it is you're thinking_, Merlin mentally scolded his other self, _un-think it. Right. Now. She belongs to Arthur and you are __**not**__ allowed to hurt her._

"In the chest?" she verified, her brows drawing together in confusion.

Merlin was equally confused. _Where are you going with this, Gwen?_

"Yes," Merlin answered offhandedly, setting his spoon down. He really didn't want the food anyway; he just wanted to figure out how to make Gwen leave so he could have time alone to work on his magic. Maybe if he answered her questions, she would leave faster.

"But…" Gwen sputtered, looking even more embarrassed, if that were possible. "It's not there anymore."

_Wait…what?_ Merlin was overcome with a shiver of foreboding.

Fomorroh-Merlin looked up, startled. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

_Yeah, Gwen…how **do** you know that?_

"I…um…" Gwen was mortified. _Oh Gods, why did I even open my mouth?_ "I noticed it wasn't there…when you were putting your shirt on…"

Merlin's mouth hung open in abject horror and complete humiliation. _I had my shirt off out in the open…and in front of __**Gwen**__, of all people? Oh, Gods… Oh, Gods!_ If Merlin had actually been controlling his body at the moment, he was absolutely sure he'd have been hyperventilating and blushing from head to toe in complete embarrassment.

_Obviously, I can't leave my body and the Fomorroh alone together anymore_, Merlin thought in mortification. _Gods only know what __**other**__ horribly embarrassing things it's made me do!_

"Oh." Fomorroh-Merlin felt his cheeks blush hot and was surprised, as this news meant nothing to him.

"What does Gaius think happened to it, then?" she asked, her cheeks still flaming; studying the wood grain of the table as if nothing in the world was more interesting.

_Yeah, I'd like to know that too, actually._

"That someone healed me…with magic," Fomorroh-Merlin told Gwen with an unconcerned shrug of his shoulders.

* * *

Arthur's eyes widened and his eyebrows raised right into the line of his bangs. "Enchanted! First you say Merlin's been magically healed and now he's been _enchanted_?"

Gaius nodded solemnly. "I believe so, Sire."

Arthur was almost afraid to ask. "What kind of an enchantment is it, Gaius?"

"I don't know, Arthur. Not yet, anyway. It will take a little time; I cannot afford to let Merlin realize I've found him out if I am to help him."

"But why? Who would even _do_ such a thing? And why to _Merlin,_ of all people?" Horror at the thought of his friend being abused in this way colored his every word.

"Can you think of no one?" Gaius prompted.

Arthur's pulse jumped and his stomach lurched as the obvious answer presented itself to him. "Morgana." He launched himself out of his chair and started to pace. "Of _course_! It _has_ to be Morgana. She would be powerful enough to heal such a grievous wound…and she's the _only_ person I can think of who would know how implicitly I trust Merlin, and therefore, how vulnerable I would be to him." He ran his fingers through his hair agitatedly until it stood up on end.

Another equally horrible thought stopped Arthur in his tracks, turning on the spot to face Gaius. "The attack! Morgana must have been behind that as well, then."

Gaius, shaking his head in resignation, sighed. "It would seem so."

Arthur started pacing once again, his hands punctuating his words as he thought aloud. "Which means…whomever gave away our travel plans…"

"…is in league with Morgana," Gaius finished for him.

"Gods…_Gods!_" Arthur cursed, throwing his hands up into the air. "First my father, then Morgana, and now _this_?"

At this, Gaius stood up, crossed the room to stand before the troubled young man. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder once more, he said soothingly, "Arthur…"

Arthur raised his wounded eyes to meet the physician's and Gaius was shocked at how old and drained he suddenly appeared. "Will the betrayals ever end, Gaius?" he asked wearily.

"They will, Sire," Gaius reassured him. "You are still new to the kingship, no matter how much your father tried to prepare you for it. You are still finding your own way, trying to decide how best to make your mark. There are bound to be people who will see your caution and misinterpret it as uncertainty and wish to take advantage of it. That will end in time, once you have established yourself better."

Arthur shook his head, looking away dejectedly. A squeeze to his shoulder warned Arthur that Gaius was about to speak. "Have you given any thought to whom the traitor might be, Sire?"

"I have but…" Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "Merlin usually helps me with stuff like this. I've found over the years that for all his annoying traits, he really is good at reasoning things out."

Gaius smiled warmly. "Well, I'm no Merlin…but perhaps I could be of assistance?"

Arthur returned his smile. "Thank you, Gaius. I would appreciate it." He gestured back toward the seats they had vacated moments earlier and sat.

"Now," Gaius said once he was settled, "who exactly knew of your travel route?"

"Well, there were several council members that knew of the treaty and what day we were leaving. But I did not inform them of the route I would take," Arthur explained. "_That_ information I entrusted to only my uncle, you, and the knights on the patrol."

"Which means it must be one of us," Gaius concluded, desperately trying to think of a way to gently lead Arthur toward what he _knew_ must be the right answer.

"Well, I know I can rule _you_ out, Gaius…" Arthur offered with a hint of a smile.

"Oh?" Gaius quirked his eyebrow in curiosity. "And how do you know that?"

"Well, it's obvious to me that though you knew, you didn't even tell _Merlin_ where we were going. He had no idea we would be traveling through the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Because, trust me, if he _had_ known, he would have been _complaining_ about it the whole way there!" Arthur rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "He's such a _girl_ when it comes to that place!"

"And besides that, Merlin was hurt. No matter what, Gaius, I know you would _never_ have put Merlin in harm's way."

"Nor you," Gaius scolded gently. "I've watched over you since you were a babe, Arthur."

"I know," Arthur assured him.

"So, who else does that leave?" Gaius prompted.

"Well, there's Sir Leon, but I can't see him being the traitor. He's been loyal to my father and I for what seems like forever."

"Loyalties can change," Gaius said, playing devil's advocate again.

Arthur shook his head definitively. "No. He was one of the knights locked up in Morgana's dungeons. He stayed loyal to us all during his captivity. He escaped and came right to find me. He stood side by side with me while we faced an immortal army. I have no doubts about him."

Arthur paused for a moment, considering. "Really, that goes for Percival, Gwaine, and Elyan as well. I haven't known them as long, but they have all proven their worth and loyalty to me. Gwaine has saved my life several times. Cenred, who was an ally of Morgause and Morgana, killed Percival's family. And Elyan is Guinevere's brother. We saved him from the dungeons in the Castle of Fyrien, where Cenred and Morgause were holding him. I can only assume that Morgana was helping them as well. And all of them fought with me against the immortals. They knew that survival was a long shot at best, but they willingly followed me into battle. These are not people who would be helping Morgana now."

"So then, who does that leave?" Gaius prayed that Arthur would finally be able to see the truth before his uncle could do any more damage to Camelot.

"Only…" Arthur sucked in a painful breath. "Agravaine…" He doubled over in pain as if he'd been punched in the gut.

"But…but…" Arthur struggled to wrap his head around this new development. "Why would he? He's my uncle. My mother's brother."

"Sharing of blood does not guarantee loyalty, Arthur. Morgana is proof enough of that," Gaius pointed out.

"But it makes no sense. What could he possibly have to gain from helping her?"

Arthur may not have been able to understand the man's motives, but Gaius, on the other hand, could see that Agravaine's betrayal of the Pendragons made _plenty_ of sense. No matter how much the news might hurt him, Gaius could no longer deny that Arthur had a right to know—that he _needed_ to know—the truth. _Forgive me, Uther…_

"Revenge, Sire," Gaius replied simply.

"Revenge?" Arthur repeated. "Revenge for _what_?"

"Revenge for the death of his sister."


	10. Born of Magic

**No Better Assassin**

A/N: _Thank you all for sticking with this story even though I had taken so long to update! I really appreciate all your kind comments; I really am my own worst critic. So, ahem, yes...another update. What can I say? I had this chapter half-written by the time I posted last chapter and my muse wouldn't shut up. I think this is going to be the longest conversation for Arthur and Gaius ever! _

_I thought about holding onto it for a couple of days since now I will have nothing new written and you all may have to wait longer for the next chapter, but, well... I'm as excited to post updates as you all are about reading them!_

_I didn't get as much chance to beta this (I self-beta) as I usually do, so if you notice anything, I'd appreciate a PM and I'll take care of it when I get back from work tonight. Thanks!_

_Thanks again for reading and I would love it if you leave me a little something to let me know what you think. Your comments really keep me going!_

* * *

_Chapter 10: Born of Magic_

"A _sorcerer_ killed my mother," Arthur automatically responded, spouting what had been drummed into his skull since before he could talk.

Gaius' conscience pained him for breaking his oath, but there was nothing for it. "I'm afraid that the truth is much more complex than that, Sire."

Arthur rubbed a bone-weary hand against his temple, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. "Why do I have the feeling that I'm not going to like this _truth_ very much?" A moment of tense silence stretched between the two men before Arthur sighed and motioned with his hand for Gaius to continue.

"In the early years of your father's reign, he met and married your mother. He loved her very much and they were very happy together. Camelot rejoiced in its Queen; she was all that was kind and good and fair. She brought out the very best in Uther, and it was obvious to all that saw them together that he revered her."

Arthur smiled softly at the thought of a time when his parents were together and happy.

"There was only one thing that marred their otherwise sublime existence: Igraine did not conceive a child, even after several years of marriage. After seeing several physicians, including myself, it was determined that she was not _able_ to conceive."

A shiver of foreboding ran down Arthur's spine, dredging up with it the memory of a phantom brought to life by a sorceress—a phantom masquerading as his mother. _No!_ His mind rebelled, not wanting to believe it. _It can't be! _Yet somehow, he knew it was.

"Other kings would have put aside a Queen that was barren, no matter how much they loved her; the need for producing an heir was just too strong. This was doubly so in your father's case; because as a new ruler it was imperative he establish a new bloodline. But he also had no siblings who could provide the kingdom with a prince should he and Igraine not be able."

"Yet, your father would _not_ put Igraine aside. He loved her too much. Instead, he started researching more—_creative_—ways to deal with the problem."

"Magic," Arthur replied hollowly, knowing in his gut this was what Gaius meant.

"Yes," Gaius agreed. "Don't make that face, Arthur…" he scolded with a raised eyebrow when Arthur glowered. Guiltily, Arthur closed his eyes and steeled himself for what would come next.

Gaius nodded and continued, "Magic was not banned then as it is now. And your father was…desperate. He wanted to help them conceive the child they needed to have…that they _wanted_ to have together."

"He and your mother tried many potions, tinctures, and charms. None of them worked. Meanwhile, word had discretely gotten around the magical community that the King and Queen were searching for a magical remedy to her ailment and that all that had been attempted to date had been in vain."

"They had almost completely lost hope when a mysterious woman appeared at the gates of Camelot and asked for an audience with the King and Queen. Once it was granted, she explained to them that she was a High Priestess of the Old Religion and that she had the power to give them what they wanted most—a son."

"You see, she had the ability to Mirror Life and Death. It is a rare gift; only very few can master its secrets and even less have the power required to cast it."

As Gaius' story progressed, Arthur felt his face get redder and redder. Anger, hatred, and betrayal coursed through his system until it became a tidal wave of anguished emotion. _It was true! It was all true! He killed her! Killed her with magic!_

Arthur was not aware he'd pushed to a stand, oblivious to the fact that the words he'd thought had echoed in his head were actually echoing around his chamber, unconscious of the tears streaming down his face until he was brought abruptly back to himself by the loud banging upon his chamber door.

"Sire! Sire, are you all right in there?" bellowed an anxious voice that must have belonged to one of the guards outside his room.

Frantically turning his back to the door and grabbing the edge of his tunic to wipe his eyes, Arthur called out hoarsely, "I am fine. Carry on." But when he turned to face a very startled Gaius, his eyes were red-rimmed, his face was ashen and he was shaking all over.

"Arthur!" Immediately, Gaius jumped up to grasp him by the arm, for he looked dangerously close to passing out. "Come sit down."

"He killed my mother, Gaius…He swore…" Arthur whispered brokenly as he slumped back into his chair by the fire, "He _swore_ to me he didn't…"

Gaius grabbed him by both shoulders and shook him. "What you saw and heard that night was _not_ the truth. Morgause took a few key facts and twisted them around to suit her own purposes. The spirit you spoke to may have _looked_ like Igraine, but it was definitely _not_ your mother because she would _never_ have blamed your father for what happened to her."

Arthur's eyes flew to the old man's face, searching with fragile hope that what he was hearing was true. Gaius nodded his encouragement. "Let me finish and then you will understand."

Subdued, Arthur nodded slightly, staring at his hands.

"The Priestess cautioned your parents that the price to be paid for such a thing would be very high. Not in gold, or other riches…but something far more precious. To create a life, a life must be taken. That is the way of the Old Religion; the balance of nature must always be restored."

"I tried to urge them against this course of action, that spells of that magnitude were difficult to predict, but both of your parents were adamant. They wanted you, no matter the personal cost to themselves."

Gaius lowered his head, his heart saddened. "Your father knew how very much Igraine wanted a child, and he could not deny her that wish if there was even a chance it could work. He agreed to the terms of the pact; he vowed to pay the price personally. He bargained his own life for yours."

Arthur's eyes widened, staring at Gaius, speechless. His father had planned to give up his _own_ life, not his mother's!

"Satisfied with his oath, your father was allowed to accompany the Priestess to the Isle of the Blessed. There she procured the elixir your mother would need: water drawn from the Cup of Life."

A hiss of stunned horror whistled between Arthur's teeth. "The Cup of Life!"

"Yes Arthur," Gaius replied, reading Arthur's mind. "The very same cup that created the immortal army. But do not forget that it is also what saved Sir Leon's life…and it helped to create _you_." Gaius laid a gentle hand on Arthur's forearm. "You were _born_ of magic."

_You were __**born**__ of magic…_ The words reverberated around Arthur's head and resonated inside his soul. Magic—the very force he'd been conditioned to hate and fear his entire life—was the very _reason_ for his existence. Magic had done terrible things to his family and had struck at the heart of Camelot with its evil too many times to count, yet how was he to truly hate the power that had given him life?

"I realize this will be hard for you to accept, Arthur. It goes against everything you were taught. But sometimes…magic _can_ be used for good. Look what it did for Sir Leon; he would not be alive today were it not for the Druids and their use of the Cup. And what about the light you spoke of, the one that saved you in the Caves of Balor? Surely _that_ was not evil."

Arthur held both hands to his head as if the pressure of his palms was the only thing keeping his head from bursting. He _wanted_ to believe Gaius, but he felt as if he would be betraying his father's memory if he did. After all, his own father had died at the hands of a sorcerer because of him, because he let down his guard and dared to believe.

"No…no!" Arthur shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "I tried. I tried to believe, Gaius. I gave it a chance; a chance to save my father; a chance to redeem itself. But that sorcerer used my fragile hope and saw it as a weakness he could exploit. He ingratiated himself with me and took advantage of my goodwill. Because of him, my father is _dead_!"

Gaius was offended on Merlin's behalf. He knew how hard his ward had tried to save Uther—a man who would happily have sent him to his death—simply out of sympathy and love for his son. Merlin had been through the sudden and grievous loss of a father and wanted to spare his best friend the same kind of pain.

And, moreover, he knew how much Merlin hated and blamed himself for his failure. He could not stand for Arthur to say such hurtful things that would only add to his ward's feelings of guilt. Gaius pointed an accusing finger in Arthur's face. "That is not true! Dragoon has been nothing but faithful to you!"

Arthur snorted. "A sorcerer faithful to a _Pendragon_? That will be the day…"

Gaius gave Arthur a look so cold that he actually shivered. "You know not of what you speak! Dragoon did everything in his power to save your father. And it might have worked had it not been for that anti-healing charm around Uther's neck!"

Arthur gasped in shock. "What? What anti-healing charm?"

Gaius touched his hand to his forehead in mortification. He'd never meant to mention the charm…He'd just been so angry about Arthur's accusations against Merlin that it just slipped out. "Arthur, I…" he began remorsefully.

But Arthur's iron-clad tone stopped him immediately. "What. Charm. Gaius…"

Gaius sighed deeply, but knew there was nothing else for it but to confess. "When I was examining your father's body after his passing, I found an unfamiliar charm around his neck. It was attached to a long cord and had been hidden beneath Uther's shirt. It bore markings of the Old Religion upon it, so it was clear that it did not belong to your father. I researched the runic markings on it. Its sole purpose was to absorb any healing magic cast upon the wearer, amplify and reverse it to cause tenfold the damage instead. So while it _was_ Dragoon's magic that failed to save your father, it was the _amulet_ that killed him."

Confusion overtook Arthur's features. "But, then…the old man really _was_ trying to heal him?"

"Yes he was," Gaius admitted sorrowfully.

Gaius' claim that the sorcerer Dragoon had been innocent of any wrongdoing shook Arthur's steadfast beliefs, leaving him feeling lost and adrift. Frankly, he didn't know _what_ to think anymore.

"But…but…he enchanted me!" He claimed with the desperation of a drowning man. "And Gwen almost died because of it!"

"Arthur," Gaius scolded sternly, "I thought you had more sense than that! You and I _both_ know you were in love with Gwen long before that poultice was ever found." Gaius put up a finger to stop Arthur's protest before it even started. "And no, Merlin didn't tell me. It had been obvious to me for some time. And besides, you knew she was in love with you, too. Therefore, you were not enchanted."

"Then how do you explain the poultice, Gaius?"

"That poultice was placed under your pillow with the intention of making your father _believe_ there was an enchantment at work in order to separate you and Gwen. Dragoon did not do that; someone else did. But when he discovered who the true culprit was, he knew there was no way of exposing that person. So he asked me to make up an identical poultice so that he could be _deliberately caught_ instead. He did it so he could save Gwen's _life_, Arthur."

Arthur's eyes goggled in disbelief. "So that he could burn on the pyre in her place? What a crazy old coot! He's lucky he escaped with his life!"

"Indeed." Gaius' voice was filled with irony.

"You said the sorcerer couldn't expose the true culprit." Arthur couldn't bring himself to call the sorcerer by name; it would humanize him and he didn't know if he could handle that right now. "Why not? Who was it?" Arthur asked despite himself.

"The one person that your father would never have suspected; let alone _believe_ could betray him. It was the same person that made that amulet and made sure it was around your father's neck. Morgana."

Arthur didn't know why the depths of Morgana's treachery even surprised him anymore…but they always did. Every little betrayal sliced open another wound on his already battered heart. But this time was different. This time, she'd…

"So she killed her own _father_?" Arthur actually felt bile rise into the back of his throat at the thought of such a horrific thing.

"She had stopped considering Uther her father a long time ago, so I doubt she saw it that way." After a moment of silence between the two men, Gaius mentioned, "You realize that for her to bother having made the amulet at all, she would have had to have known you were planning to use magic to heal Uther."

It hadn't actually occurred to Arthur, as he'd had so much information thrown at him this evening that he was surprised he was still coherent at all.

"Who did you tell?" Gaius prompted.

"Only Merlin, Gwen…and Agravaine," Arthur groaned the last name on the list and dropped his head into his hands, consumed with grief and self-hatred. If only he hadn't told his uncle…if only he'd known of his treachery sooner, his father might still be alive!

"Arthur, please don't blame yourself. You didn't know you couldn't trust him. There was no reason for you to think it."

Arthur lifted his head to meet Gaius' eyes beseechingly. "But shouldn't I know these things, Gaius? Shouldn't I be able to tell? I'm the king. It's my _job_ to know."

Gaius patted Arthur gently on the back. "You are being too hard on yourself. You may be a king, but you are only human. You cannot possibly know everything."

"Perhaps not, but I'm sick of not knowing enough. Tell me the rest, Gaius. Tell me what you know about how my mother died and why Agravaine would blame my father and I for it."

"As you wish, Sire," Gaius answered dutifully. "When your father returned from the Isle of the Blessed, he told me that Igraine was to drink the water on the night of the next full moon. For that night, and that night only, she could conceive."

"A few weeks later, I was called to your mother's chambers. She was not feeling well. She was terrified that, as had all the others, the elixir did not work."

"As much as I'd had grave misgivings about the course your parents had decided upon, I could not have been happier when I was able to tell your mother that she was with child at last. Never had I seen your mother so blissful as she was that day. She just _glowed_ with happiness!"

"The kingdom rejoiced that the King and Queen would finally have their heir. Your parents were so thrilled that they invited the High Priestess who had helped them to live in the palace as their honored guest. At long last, all seemed well."

"As the day of your birth approached, everything was in preparation. Your mother seemed perfectly fine and healthy. Secretly—for none but myself knew the terms of the pact—your father had done everything he could to prepare the kingdom for the loss of its king, setting in place protections and guardians and the like until you were of age."

Arthur's eyes looked suspiciously wet and tears hovered on his eyelashes, humbled as he was by the story of how much his parents had loved and wanted him.

"Yet, I had never been able to shake the feeling that the pact would not go according to plan. I was right. I was there with the midwife as you were being born, Arthur. Igraine was perfectly fine and healthy…until the moment you took your first breath."

"The change in her was immediate. Even though there was no medical explanation for it, instinctively I knew that she was dying and nothing I could do would save her…and so did she. She confided to me that she'd known; she had _always_ known that it would be her and not Uther who would die. She knew it before Uther had even struck the bargain. And she regretted _nothing_, Arthur. Not for one moment."

Tears rolled down Arthur's cheeks in rivulets, witnessing his own first moments of life, and his mother's last, if only through Gaius' compassionate eyes.

"Even though her strength was fading, when you were brought to her and laid in her arms to suckle…her smile was _brilliant_. She kissed the top of your head and stroked your tiny cheek and told me that you were to be named Arthur…and to tell Uther that she was sorry. She asked me to look after you both." Gaius paused and cleared his throat, the memory clearly affecting him. "Her last words on this earth were ones of love for you."

Arthur closed his eyes and drew a hitching breath. He could _feel_ the love radiating from his mother's memory washing over him in healing waves. "Thank you, Gaius…" he choked out in a tear-filled voice. "You'll never know what this means to me…"

"Oh, I think I do," Gaius answered, putting a steadying hand on the man's shaking shoulder.

After several minutes, Arthur sat back, wiping his face on the corner of his tunic before asking, "Why did no one ever tell me this story before?"

"Your father forbade it. He did not want you to feel guilty for Igraine's death, something which you had no control over, and something that was not your fault."

"And it was Mother's death that led to the Great Purge?"

"Yes. When your father discovered that it was Igraine that had perished and not himself, he was out of his mind with anger and grief. He felt tricked by the Priestess and demanded that she honor their agreement. She told him that nature took the person it felt was the most appropriate payment of the debt. In order to give Uther what he wanted most in the world—a son and an heir—nature would take in payment what was most precious to him, which was not his own life but that of the Queen's."

Gaius' head bowed and his voice began to tremble. "When the Priestess told Uther she could not change the outcome, he imprisoned her and promised to execute her and all of her kind because they could not be trusted. It was then that the ban on magic was decreed. The Priestess escaped the fires, but many others with magic died in her stead over the years since."

Arthur laid a hand on Gaius' arm, letting the man wrestle with his own demons until he was better. When Gaius finally raised his head again and met Arthur's look with a small nod of thanks, he asked, "But what does all this have to do with Agravaine?"

Gaius' mouth became a thin line, his face grim. "For years after Igraine's passing, her family blamed Uther for her death, thought that he had used Igraine to his own ends. They did not understand that it was Igraine who had wanted you badly enough to willingly give her life for you. It did not help that your father believed he was at fault just as much as they did."

"In the months following your birth, her brother Tristan actually challenged your father to a duel to the death over her honor. Obviously, your father won and your uncle was laid to rest in Camelot's royal tomb beside his sister; the highest honor your father could bestow, even though he had cursed your father and Camelot with his dying breath."

"Following the death of Tristan, an uneasy truce formed. But relations between the Pendragons and du Bois families were always strained at best."

"Is that why Agravaine showed up only after my father was…unwell?"

"It would seem so. Your father would not have been well enough to warn you of the possible danger."

"But why didn't _you_? Why didn't _anyone_?"

"To warn you of my suspicions would mean breaking the oath of silence I had given your father. I have only done so now because it was imperative for you to understand why your uncle would betray you. I think—I _hope_—that in this case, your father would understand why I broke my vow; he could not possibly have foreseen the events unfolding now."

"Besides, at first, Agravaine seemed so sincere that I hoped his goodwill was the truth…that he could put aside hatred of the father to help his sister's only child."

"I guess not," Arthur spit bitterly.

"I _am_ sorry, Arthur," Gaius said remorsefully. "I wish things had not turned out this way."

"Me too," Arthur replied on a sigh, his tone no longer bitter—just sad and weary.

Gaius waited a long moment to see if Arthur would say anything more. When he did not, Gaius asked carefully, "What will you do now, Sire?"

"Nothing."

Gaius stared at Arthur, dumbfounded. But before Gaius could remember how to form words, Arthur continued, his voice determined now, "I will not let his crimes go unpunished, but I will not act in haste. Morgana thinks she can place someone inside the castle to spy on me; well, two can play that game. I will not let on that I suspect Agravaine. Let him think that he still has my trust. But I will have him watched and followed in the hope that he will eventually lead us to Morgana."

In those few moments, Arthur proved to Gaius that he would be a great king and a brilliant tactician. Despite the obvious anger, pain, and betrayal Arthur felt, he would not let those emotions rule his decisions. Instead, he would use the situation and turn it to his advantage.

"Gaius?" Arthur asked after a while.

"Yes, Sire?"

"Whatever happened to the High Priestess? The one that gave my mother the potion. You said she escaped."

"She became bitter and jaded and turned her hatred back upon Camelot," Gaius explained. "She's tried several times over the years to exact revenge for what she saw as your father's betrayal of her and the Old Religion."

"The Black Knight that your father fought in your stead several years ago was a wraith of your Uncle Tristan, brought back to life by that self-same Priestess to enact their revenge. That was why he felt it was so important to be the one to fight him and not you. It was his battle to win or lose again…not yours."

Arthur nodded, understanding his father's reasoning for drugging him and taking his place in battle at last.

"She was also the person responsible for creating the Afanc that contaminated Camelot's water supply…and the one that poisoned your cup with the Morteus flower."

"Poisoned _Merlin_, you mean," Arthur spat bitterly, suddenly knowing _exactly_ whom Gaius spoke of. "And almost killed me in the Caves of Balor."

"Yes." There was no point in denying it, as Arthur had figured out the connection on his own. "She was also the person responsible for creating the Questing Beast that bit you."

Arthur's hands clenched so hard that his knuckles were white. "I know she was responsible for bringing about my birth, Gaius…but she deserves to die for all the evil she's done!"

"I'm afraid you're several years too late, Arthur. Nimueh is already dead."

Arthur leaned back with relief and his hands relaxed. "Wish I knew who to thank for that; I'd go and shake their hand!"

"Then you won't have to travel far, Sire."

Arthur stared at the physician, perplexed.

"It was Merlin."

* * *

A/N: _Poor Arthur! He is getting so much thrown at him, but I think a lot of it was long overdue, so...he's just going to have to deal with it! ;)_


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